


Winds of War

by Pariahrogue



Series: The Punisher Saga [4]
Category: Marvel, The Punisher - Fandom, rogue - Fandom
Genre: Childhood sexual abuse alluded to on Chapter 9, F/M, Multi, Trigger Warning: Rape flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pariahrogue/pseuds/Pariahrogue
Summary: The fourth part in my Punisher series.Necessary reads:  (All of them build upon each other and reference events that happen in the previous stories)God's AvengerSins of the FathersFall of Heroes





	1. Man of War

Bonesteel, TX

The pungent aromas of dead men’s defecation, blood, sweat and gunpowder commingled to foul the air. They were the smells of war, familiar to Frank but not so much to the roughly one hundred and thirty young men under his command. They were bloodied and tested now, he reckoned, having seen combat for the first time. Smoke simmered in the background, the ghostly remains of homes departing this earth. Frank’s company, as well as three others, were charged with securing refugees and driving out the marauders.

Random pops announced a mercy killing of an enemy soldier. They had been given instructions to take no prisoners of war. That suited Frank just fine. He might be the faithful husband and good father at home, but out here he was hard as nails Captain Frank David Castle.

Frank barked at his platoon leaders to bring in the men from the fight, so that casualties could be cared for, men fed and the perimeter guarded. HYDRA was still out there, he thought, in that dusty plain filled with thorny tumbleweeds. The company’s telepath monitored their movements.   
The HYDRA battalion was pinned down. The telepaths that were employed by the Marine Corps, made it so the enemies would not move until the lieutenant colonel gave word. That would fall to another company, Frank decided, my men are played out.

Lines of men came back to the encampment, bedraggled and dazed, weapons hanging low as they trudged back to relative safety. One platoon also had a raggedly dressed woman, dark haired and sloe eyed who carried a bundle tightly in her arms. She walked in front of them and they let her set their pace. The looks on those men’s faces were alarmed and troubled. Some were shell shocked, numbed by the visceral violence they had partaken in. 

Frank approached them and the platoon stopped at a gesture from their captain. He peered at the woman whose crystalline blue eyes were wild and shattered—the woman was in her twenties and was not malnourished. He noted the unfortunate woman was clearly not sane. She held up her carefully wrapped bundle to Frank—she instinctively recognized him as an authority figure.  
“Please save my son. Please.” Her voice, cracked and worn, was tremulous. The men behind her shifted nervously. Frank took the burden from her and pulled back the cloth to reveal a dead child. A child that had been dead for half a day, maybe. He caught the whiff of death now, the eyes were clouded over and there was something akin to sympathy for the mother. He did not display that sympathy.

He waved over the platoon leader, a dependable lieutenant, and gave him orders. Frank also passed him the deceased infant. “Give her baby a decent burial—get the chaplain to make arrangements. Take the woman to a female nurse or medic and make sure she gets medical attention and rations. Perhaps Chaplain Matthias will be able to locate her people, if she has any people still living. She’ll need more care than we are able to provide.”  
“Sir, we’re running low on rations.” The lieutenant warned. “We’ll be getting some tomorrow, but…”

“Then she can have mine. I’ve done without, Marine. But she needs it.” With that, he turned on his heel. The men had their orders and knew to obey them. When Frank had taken command of the company, he drilled it into their heads that he was in charge and that he expected his men to adhere to his rules and a strict moral ethic.

Captain Castle had a brief meeting with his first sergeant Orlando Ortiz in his tent, relayed orders from his superiors, and dismissed him. As First Sergeant, Ortiz would instruct the platoon leaders and they, in turn, would tell the rest. He pulled off his boots and began to unwind. A tablet beeped on his makeshift table, and he awkwardly fumbled with it before he managed to pull up Skype. It was Rogue. She usually called about this time, so that she could have a few words with him and for Sarah to continue to connect to Frank. Rogue wanted the small girl to always feel loved and wanted. She knew that having a father—a good one—was important to the wellbeing of a daughter. Fathers set the tone for future interactions with men.

It’s odd to have instant communication, so different than ‘Nam. Maybe that would have helped Maria. Maybe not.

Rogue showed up on the screen as she fed Michael, his original dog tags hung around her neck. It was her way of keeping him close. Sarah popped into view to say hello and to get a few fatherly words from him. Sarah scampered off to bed when Rogue asked her to. “Hard day, wasn’t it? Ah can see the tension in your shoulders, and a touch in your eyes.” Rogue looked tired herself, with frazzled hair and circles underneath her eyes. But she was lovely, he thought.

“There was heavy fighting today, “Frank admitted, “but that doesn’t bother me.” He told her about the unnamed woman, crippled with grief and insanity. The dead child would haunt him along with the mother’s profound sense of loss.

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Rogue gripped Michael just a little more firmly. “You’re doing right by her, though there’s not much you can do for the poor lady.”

“No. There’s not.” He said. The conversation turned to more pleasant and mundane topics before   
Frank reluctantly ended it. “I’m sorry. I need to go. I have work that requires me to rise early tomorrow.”

“Ah understand. Ah need shuteye myself.” After she blew him a kiss, he lightly tapped the end call button. He put the tablet away and went for a quick shower.

When Frank woke up, he read the orders forwarded to him. From Hicks, no less. Bring your men up to Antelope Ridge. March them up here, it’s only about a two-mile journey to the east from your location. Too rocky for Jeeps. We’ll need your men for an offensive. Along with the instructions, came a map that showed Hicks’ current whereabouts.

The next morning began with the solemn burial of the child. The entire company of Marines attended, at least those not on guard duty. Frank was surprised to see that the mother managed to make an appearance. It was also clear to him that she understood the situation though lightly medicated on some sedative. The chaplain recited the words of sorrow and sympathy, designed by the living to honor the dead. Frank barely heard them; he never was good at funerals.

When the ceremony was over, Captain Castle told his men to load up their backpacks and be ready to haul ass in ten minutes. As a rule of thumb, he always kept his pack ready to go unless his clothes or other necessities needed to be cleaned or repaired. But as it was, all he needed was his weapons load out then he would join them. He picked up his pack and retrieved his standard issue M16A rifle.

Before they left, the woman wobbled over to him and tried to smile. “My name is Constanza. I want to thank you for your kindness, Captain.”

“It’s my duty to protect people and do what I can.” Frank said, solemnly, voice heavy with gravity. He told her good bye then turned back to his men.

He made everyone line up in formation before heading out. He reminded everyone regarding their orders. Frank assured himself that every man had their rifles. Fortunately, no one had misplaced their weapons, a serious offense for any soldier. The penalty for that out on assignment, Frank knew, was a Field Grade Article 15. The consequences for that kind of dereliction of duty could be the loss of up to three ranks, half pay for two months, and forty-five days’ extra duty. If the chain of command was feeling generous, that is. Frank was not feeling particularly generous.   
Being irresponsible with one’s own gear was not a thing to be tolerated and the military came down hard on those moronic and unprofessional soldiers.

The march was not horrible, they started before the blistering heat of the Texas sun kicked in. They reached their destination before noon and caught up with a vast gathering of men. Frank’s company joined the others and Frank went to convene with Hicks. He caught a glimpse of what was down in the valley; a HYDRA encampment. A large one. 

Roughly about twenty-five, thirty thousand men. They’re watching us too, I bet. He caught the sharp flares from glass, like binoculars. He came to Hicks, who unlike most generals, preferred to be among the troops. War Horse Hicks warmed immediately when he noticed Frank.

“We’re going to attack later today. When the sun isn’t in our faces. It’ll be in theirs, though.” Hicks stated. The crusty general was not above using anything that might give his men even a slight advantage. “Let your men relax until I give the word.”  
Frank relayed the order but with a note of caution. “Stay watchful.” The platoon leaders gave their assent and the whole company began to do commonplace tasks to vent some of the nervous energy they had. Some men pulled out a notepad and wrote a note to a wife or a girlfriend, some prayed and asked God for forgiveness. Others stayed quiet and reflected on what brought them to this point. Frank remained at the ridge’s edge and studied the men down below.

Frank kept a trigger finger on the rising tension of the Marines, especially his Marines. It rose along with the sun. The growing reaction to the fight was natural, he knew, but a He remained unnaturally calm and so could see with absolute clarity what the best tactic to take would be. He asked for Hicks’ attention, received it, and he outlined his plan.

“I’ll take two companies over there,” Frank pointed to the eastern part of the ridge, “You and your men take point over there. We’ll smash them in-between.”

Hicks mulled it over. “A pincer movement is a good plan for this scenario, a basic one, but effective. You take Grey Wolf company along with yours.” For a moment, Hicks wanted to tell him the nickname for Castle’s own company—the Punisher company—but thought that Castle would not particularly enjoy that. He’ll find out soon enough. “Work with Major Jackson on your end. I’ll control this part of the plan. Move out, Marine.”

Thirty minutes later, both the Grey Wolf and the Eagle—otherwise known as the Punisher—companies moved into position. Major Jackson and Frank observed the terrain and found the easiest routes for their Marines to follow. The officers observed both the position of the sun and waited for the signal to attack. They all waited patiently as the day labored on, pouring heat on their helmets. Everyone talked in spurts at first, then they fell silent. War was about waiting and boredom, mostly, but frenetic spasms of violence and mayhem were interspersed. 

Frank relished the coming battle.

Frank became acutely aware of every sound, every sniffle a man made in his general proximity. He refocused on the enemy in front of them and vowed to get as many of his men through this ordeal as possible. They are my responsibility. He shifted his rifle into position, and his men followed suit.

A quick spark of light from the opposite end of the ridge gave Castle and Major Jackson permission to let loose their men. “Semper Fi!” They shouted as they ran over and down the escarpment. Fury raged in their eyes and the willingness to kill fueled their hearts.

The fighting began and Frank lost himself in the brutal ballet of the kill, let loose the savagery upon the enemy as the adrenaline rushed within his veins. Guns burst into fiery bloom, men’s heads disappeared, blood stained the uniforms as they fell to the earth. Crimson blood soaked into the heat hardened ground. The loud noises of guns and screaming deafened people. Chaos reigned on the field, but to men like Frank, they lived for that chaos and thrived from it.  
Pain filled cries littered the air and Frank fired his rifle. Men were cut down before him. The rifle jammed, he cleared it, and managed to shoot a nameless HYDRA before the enemy could think to do the same. His Marines fought faithfully beside him, each one remembering the carnage at Camp Lejeune, of their brothers and sisters needlessly killed.

The skirmish passed paradoxically both in a blur and in utter lucidity. It seemed that time had stopped but the battle only taken roughly about an hour. Frank stood in the middle of the killing field, up to his knees and elbows in blood, breathing heavy and coming back to himself. When he did, Frank inventoried the losses to his company. One dead, ten lightly wounded and a man that would require serious care and a medevac, which the medics would see to. He’d write up the condolence letter to the man’s next of kin.

Frank gathered up the rest of his company and told them they did a good job. He reminded them to think of people like Constanza and her son whom they were defending whenever their resolve to win started to fade. “Let’s try to prevent more losses like hers.” He concluded his little speech. Frank’s Marines had listened to him attentively; it wasn’t often their commander expounded upon some deep thought. “Time to get on our feet and find food to eat.” 

David pushed past the comfortable warmth of his bed to stretch and go to the bathroom before sleep overtook him. The moon trickled down silver streams of light on his skin, which made the woman who remained firmly cocooned in the thick covers smile. Her blonde hair spilled out over the pillows, the only real color in the room.

“You don’t look a day over thirty-five, David.” Karen said as she admired his long, powerful frame and toned body. She saw the scars on his chest and arm, and knew they were kisses from bullets. She also knew what incident had caused them and just contemplating what pain that must have caused pulled at her heartstrings. David was not running to fat like so many men his age and, yes, she respected that. It might be shallow, she thought, but I prefer fit men. She loved his eyes, though, deep blue and piercing. Karen thought they were his best physical feature. But she was mostly attracted to his gentleness. 

“Ninety percent of the time, I eat right. I exercise every day, too, no matter what. I also have good genes. I guess.” He took off the condom, then threw it in the trash. It had been a long, long time since he slept with a woman and found that he missed it. Craved it, even, now that he had a taste of physical intimacy again. They hadn’t been seeing each other for very long, only a few weeks, and this was the first time they engaged in this sort of activity. “The shower’s big enough for two. Care to join me, Karen?”

She grinned then joined him in the bathroom.

After they took turns freshening up, they jumped back under the covers. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened between you and your ex?” David inquired. Matt Murdoch was dating Karen before he was shot, things went weird between the two of them, then he was unclear about who dumped who. Karen seemed too good to be real and he thought Matt should have fought to keep her.

Karen sighed. “He shut me out. Matt didn’t want me at the hospital and every time I would go…he’d pretend he was asleep. I got tired of being ignored, gave him some space, then he said that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. So, we just broke up. I still care about what happens to him, but he’s more messed up than I want to deal with. I don’t mind dealing with some baggage—everyone has some—but he has a whole truck full of it.”

“Ouch.” David said. “Do you know how he’s doing now?”

“Last I heard, and I had to get this tidbit from Foggy, he’s in physical therapy. Matt needed a replacement hip and the doctors say he’s got to get his strength up before he gets a medical release.” Karen kissed the bridge of his nose. “Enough about my personal life. Let’s talk about yours: tell me about your real father.”

He snorted and wondered just where he’d start. Obviously, telling a reporter the complete family history was out of the question—although he now that he thought about it, Frank Castle was a pardoned criminal. David picked his words carefully. “He’s got a difficult personality. Every time I think I get close to him, he pulls back. Or I screw up and he goes even further away. I can’t elude the thought that I disappoint him, somehow. Maybe he anticipated a different kind of son, one more manly and assertive. My son Kevin adores the hell out of him, but I don’t think you’d like him much.”

“Well, I like you the way you are. You communicate with me, you are smart and you are kind. Being sexy as hell certainly helps.” Karen smiled at him, golden wisps of hair slipped down over her face.

Karen and David met over the brief article on Trent, but had grown to know each other through AA meetings. This affair probably would not be approved by his sponsor, who strongly advised him to stay away from hooking up for at least a year to avoid establishing a codependent relationship. That obviously didn’t happen and David contemplated just where their friendship was going; he sensed that Karen was developing feelings for him. He liked her very much, thought she was beautiful and strong and everything a reasonable man would want in a girlfriend, but wasn’t quite at the stage where he knew he could love her yet. I’m being unfair to her if I keep this up for much longer. I think I can love her, but I’ll wait until I know for sure.

After Karen fell asleep, David remained awake to think about Trent. If I can get him back, it won’t be too late. I can save him….I can save him. The desperate yearning in his heart for Trent was a constant pressure, from which work and liaisons were a temporary respite. David still had hope for his boy.

Karen nestled against him and he draped an arm over her, the gentle aroma of her lavender shampoo wafting up. He kissed her forehead and she smiled in her sleep. He lost his battle with consciousness, soothed by the warm presence of her and the thread bare sliver of hope that he would not have to live his life alone.

# # #  
Kevin plunked down on his bunk, looked at the envelope and noticed it was from his father. Kevin smiled, grateful for the distraction. Up here in Alaska, internet and phone connections were sparse, so David wrote frequent letters to both Eleanor and Kevin.

Dear Kevin and Eleanor,

I am not sure how to begin this letter, but it is my fervent prayer that you two are safe. I love you both. Keep your heads down and brain buckets on, please. I know you both know to clean and oil your guns and maintain your gear. But don’t forget to eat.

No word on Trent’s location, other than being in Latveria. As of right now, I’ve been told that we do not have the resources or manpower to retrieve him. We also do not want to start an international incident with Latveria’s prickly leader, Doctor Von Doom. So, for the time being, there is little I can do but keep alert for any news. I’m sorry. 

Kevin took a moment to consider this and felt horrible for their father. He speculated about his young brother and hoped Trent would be alright. He doubted it. Kevin went back to reading the letter.

In other family events, Frank married Lori. In addition, it turns out that he had a daughter from another woman about five years ago. You and Eleanor have a five-year-old half-aunt. But there’s more. 

The letter went on to explain about the circumstances of Michael’s birth. Kevin’s emotions went from incredulous to rage to thinking Lori was an amazing person to adopt both Frank’s children. 

That’s more than I would be willing to do, I’m not sure if I’d want to raise my rapist’s child, but maybe Frank and Rogue know what it’s like to be a child left on their own. She’s a great person. I wonder if I should call her grandma. The young Navy SEAL focused on reading the last paragraph or so of the letter.

Kevin and Eleanor, I confess to being an alcoholic and I can say with all honesty that I’ve been sober for six months. There are times that I truly miss the alcohol, but I feel better. Physically and mentally. My sponsor says that part of my recovery is to tell you that I am an alcoholic and that I am sorry for any harm and embarrassment I might have done to you. If I can make any amends, please let me know.

I love you both very, very much.

 

Your Father,  
Frank David Castiglioni Jr.

The palpable pain from the last part of the letter brought tears to Kevin’s eyes. It was like his father was in front of him, begging Kevin and Eleanor for their understanding and hoping his children would still love him. “I love you, Dad. And there’s nothing to forgive. Just stay sober.” He knew, of course, David could not hear him, but it eased the turmoil inside of Kevin.

Kevin narrowed his eyes and thought it interesting that his father was using his complete given name. FRANK David Castiglioni. Junior. Dad wants a connection with Grandpa—any way he can get it. It won’t happen in the way that Dad wants it to. Kevin had a flash of insight that maybe his father had a deep hole in him somewhere, one that alcohol and raising children used to fill. Now, with neither available to him, it was no wonder David went off the deep end. Kevin shook his head. I need to discuss this with Eleanor. 

He left his bunk with the springiness of a trained fighter. It was his intention to search for Eleanor and it was a good thing that the SEALs and Marines were working together. Russia was skulking around and it was wearing on all the soldiers and Marines, who itched for an opportunity to fight. It took him about a half hour to get to Eleanor’s tent.

 

# # #

Military life in Alaska was hard and often cold, accentuated by the haunting howls of a wolf pack late at night. Everyone was on edge, especially the newer Marines. Some turned to card playing and to hand held video games to stave off boredom and loneliness. Some found love in unexpected places and kept it hidden, not wanting the world to intrude on what happiness was to be found. Many soldiers minded their own business, though, if the romance did not interfere with duty. They knew happiness was in short supply and not typically long lived. And most knew that Carlos Cruz was involved with Eleanor. They ignored him as he went to her tent.

Eleanor ushered Carlos inside her solitary tent after he made a rhythmic scratching, code for permission to enter. It had just her bed and enough space for a foot locker where she kept her rifle and other important gear locked up. There weren’t many women stationed here, so it was best that she had her own sleeping space.

“I missed you, Carlos.” She kissed him then gazed into his nearly black and dancing eyes. Her fingers played through his high and tight haircut. Carlos touched her pearlescent white skin and ran his palm along her cheek. “I love you, too.” They divested themselves of their fatigues and held each other, and reveled in their shared warmth.  
Carlos leaned over to smooch her forehead. “Eres muy preciosa, corazón.” You are very beautiful, sweetheart. And she was. On a freezing night, they had sex out of a desperate need to connect with a living being. Somewhere along the convoluted way, they developed strong feelings for each other. This wasn’t a casual affair for him anymore and he hoped that it meant something to her. He thought maybe, just maybe, she’d want to eventually be Mrs. Eleanor Cruz. I’m getting ahead of myself; either of us could die. Or get re-stationed elsewhere. He cared about her, deeply. Who wouldn’t want a lovely woman capable of using a M16A4 assault rifle? And was also extremely competent at ass kicking? Only an idiot would not want Eleanor as a girlfriend.

“Are you going to stand up just thinking or are you going to make love to me?” Eleanor teased as her hands rippled against his abdomen, then boldly went lower. “C’mon my hot Cuban lover. Warm me up.”

Carlos laughed as they tumbled onto her narrow bed and Eleanor laughed until his lips covered hers.

Kevin arrived at the tent in time to hear the pants and moans of unmistakably erotic sounds. He crept closer to hear his sister cry out her lover’s name. “Carlos….”

Carlos murmured an endearment in Spanish to her then let out a low groan of his own. Kevin turned a shade of furious red, then withdrew back to the shadows. He’d let her CO know that he needed to talk to her and for her to come by when she was ready to talk. He wanted nothing to do with this. Maybe I should have a talk with Carlos later. A nice short talk. With my fists.

Kevin talked with Eleanor’s CO, Captain Morrissey, and left the resealed letter with him. Kevin did not quite trust himself around his sister or Carlos yet. He knew that Eleanor could take whoever she wanted to bed, but it bothered him that it was Carlos, a fellow SEAL.

Later, when they were done, Carlos touched the smooth line of her neck and shoulder. “Tell me a secret about you. Something that no one else knows. Something dark and mysterious.”

“I have no dark secrets, Carlos.” She tried to brush his request off. Deep inside, she did have a secret that she wanted to share with someone. Eleanor knew she couldn’t share it with Kevin. “I’m just a girl who joined the Marines because I wanted to make a difference.”

Carlos lightly scoffed at that. “You’re holding out on me, chica.” His callused hand went to caress her hip.

“It’d be dangerous to tell you.” Eleanor said as she turned her attention to his chest. There was no way she would tell him the family secret, but the idea she had lingering in her head...

“I’m a Navy SEAL. I eat danger for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” He kissed her forehead and moved closer to her, entangling their limbs together. It was a tight fit in her bed.

Eleanor chuckled at his bravado. “You have to promise not to tell anyone. Especially Kevin.” After she extracted a promise from him, she continued. “When my four years are up, I’m going to pick up where Frank Castle left off. It’s my intent to become a Punisher and carry on his work.” She neglected to mention the family connection.

Carlos was silent for a moment. “Is that decision because of what happened to your family?”

“Yes.” Eleanor simply said. “I was planning to join the Corps before the… the massacre but it eats at me knowing evil guys are running about. It haunts me knowing more underserving people will get killed or taken advantage of. I’m not a quitter or deserter. I will fulfill my obligation and while I’m waiting to get out, I’ll also learn useful skills to help me.”

Carlos stayed quiet and thoughtful; not at all like his boisterous and rowdy self. “Castle’s got his long-deserved pardon and return to military life. There needs to be someone to pick up where he left off. I’ll join your crusade, when my time is done. You don’t have to do that alone.”

She sat up abruptly and stared down at him. “You’d do that? Give up a normal life to live one of always being outside of the law?” Eleanor had decided—after seeing firsthand the torture her father went through—that she did not ever want children.

“Baby, I only want a normal life if you’re in it. You’re right. There’s a lot of assholes out there who, with the government having other concerns on its agenda, will exploit the situation.” He slung his legs out of the small bed and pulled on his pants. He shoved his feet into his boots then slid into his t-shirt. “Eleanor, I’ll support you. Two people will make more of an impact than one. We’ll work out the logistics later. I gotta run.” He glanced at his watch. “I have duty in about an hour.”

They kissed and he took the emergency “exit” to avoid being detected. Technically, it was against the rules to have sex in one’s tent, but the rule was ignored if discipline was maintained.

Just as she was getting dressed—she had a hankering to run down to the commissary and see if there was any chocolate to be had—a loud voice announced his presence at the official opening to her tent. “PFC Castiglioni, your CO is requesting your presence. Apparently, your brother received a letter from your father and would like you to read it.”

Why didn’t the big galoot come by my tent…Oh shit. Oh shit. He must have…Oh god, I need brain bleach. She felt a wave of embarrassment and shame as she zipped up her green field jacket. 

“Acknowledged, sir. On my way.” A brief brushing of her short hair commenced and she made the short trek to the commanding officer’s headquarters.

Instantly, she felt Kevin’s ice blue glare on her when she entered the makeshift office. He had plunked down in a chair near the door. She returned one that told him plainly: Fuck off. “Let’s go read it somewhere else.” The two Castiglionis found someplace reasonably private.

“I heard you fucking Carlos,” He growled at her. He clearly wanted to end their relationship and Eleanor could not put her finger on the reason.

She stuck her finger in his face. “I’m twenty-one years old, Kevin. It isn’t YOUR business who I take to bed. But if you really must know, Carlos is my boyfriend and I love him. This isn’t just some casual fling. It’s a long-term relationship.”

“He’s nine years older than you!” Kevin objected. He felt jealous and began to feel angry. He smashed the rock wall by her head. He was rewarded by bloodied knuckles and he swore under his breath.

“Who the fuck cares? You are the only one who gives a rat’s ass. Stop acting like a possessive…” Eleanor froze. 

“I love you, Eleanor. I have for a long time.” Kevin admitted. 

Eleanor turned snow white. “I think I’m going to puke.” She seized the letter and stuffed it in her pocket. “Stay away from me or I swear I’ll put slugs in both your knee caps and end your military career. Get help, you sick bastard.

He reached for her and found a knife in extreme proximity to his face. “If you try that again, we’ll know for sure out which branch of the armed forces is better: A Marine or a SEAL, because I will fight you and I will win. I’ll repeat; get help and in the future, perhaps we can have a friendship. But I am not into this incest shit and I’ll bring the pain if you try this crap again. Understand me?” Her voice was hard and chilly, like an icicle. She stomped on his toe for good measure.

“I understand.” Kevin could only watch as she walked away and back to her CO’s office.

# # #

“So, PFC Castiglioni, you want to be re-stationed?” Captain Morrissey asked. A firm, able commander, he wondered why the young woman Eleanor would want to leave this place so suddenly. He liked her. She was an upstanding Marine with a strong moral code. He’d heard she kept intimate company with a SEAL, but they kept it discreet. He needed to know if she were doing it for the right reasons. Was she being harassed by that SEAL? “Might I inquire as to why?”

“I think that being here with my brother is a distraction for both of us. I believe that I could serve better elsewhere.” She had thought about Carlos too. While she would miss him, she sensed the potential for trouble between Kevin and him. Eleanor would have no part in it and knew it would be for the best if she were sent elsewhere.

Captain Morrissey kicked back in his chair. “Eagle company needs a new rifleman, since they lost one during a skirmish. You’ll see heavy combat.” The question hung in the air between them, unasked, Do you want to see heavy fighting?  
“Sir, I’m a Marine. I go where I’m needed. I’ll be honored to serve Eagle company.” Thanks to her father, she knew just who the commander of that company happened to be and she was excited to potentially be assigned to be Frank Castle’s rifleman.

“I’ll do the paperwork and turn it in. We should find out in a few days. You’re dismissed.” Captain Morrissey said. He detected that she wasn’t telling the whole story, but he let it go. PFC Castiglioni served with honor and distinction; he would give her the benefit of the doubt.


	2. A Bullet Is On Its Way

Frank read the paper that announced the imminent arrival of one Eleanor Castiglioni to replace his dead rifleman. He sat back in his seat. He had mixed feelings about women being on the front lines, surrounded by rough and rowdy men, but he supposed he was old-fashioned. He thought of his wife and remembered that Rogue handled herself quite well. Of course, he also considered, this is my granddaughter and not someone I’d want in harm’s way. But she signed up for this.

The Marine Captain waved over his second in command and told him to quarter the newcomer next to his tent. “The new rifleman’s a woman and I’m going to be keeping an eye on her. She’ll be arriving today and I’ll be the one to welcome her. Since our new rifleman is a woman, I am going to lay out certain protocols and concerns.” I need another worry like I need another hole in the head. “Show her in when she arrived. Dismissed, Ortiz.” He turned and read Eleanor’s files. Met the men’s physical requirements for combat. Barely, but there are a lot of men who just pull through by the skin of their teeth. He was pleased to see she maintained a better than average accuracy with her rifle and there were no disciplinary marks against her. 

Staff Sergeant Ortiz nodded as he swiftly turned around and exited. He was surprised a woman was going to be a part of this company, as this was a unit that saw heavy combat on a regular basis, but he would do his best to make sure the new rifleman fit in. It would be Captain Castle’s job to see that she knew how to be safe and to assure her that she could reach out to the officers if trouble ran into her. Captain Castle took no shit and did not hesitate to deliver appropriate punishments to those Marines idiotic enough to step out of line. 

Frank stayed in his impromptu office when it was announced that the new Marine had shown up. Ortiz took her first to her quarters, let her drop off her trunks and gear, then escorted the young woman to the Captain’s office.  
She was reserved, Frank thought and she had a steely gaze to her eyes that he appreciated. He dismissed Ortiz again and the two of them were left alone.

Eleanor grinned and he was taken aback. That smile brought back Maria from the grave, jolted his dead wife abruptly into memory. I see the resemblance now: the cerulean eyes, the hair, and the basic facial structure. They were hers. Part of Maria lives. He put aside his shock; he had always been excellent at hiding thoughts.

“Welcome to my company. First, I’m going to tell you to expect no favoritism from me based on who your father happens to be. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe in battle, but I do that with all my men. I also want to stress that if anyone gives you serious trouble, let me know. I will take care of it, so don’t worry about retribution from others. I handle the discipline around here; you are not to interfere with how I run my company. Understand?” Frank told her quite austerely. 

“Sir, yes, sir.” Eleanor replied. She expected him to be stern, but he was almost glacier like in his austereness. Unforgiving and uncompromising were two words to describe him. He’s got a fucking job to do; he can’t afford to be a loving grandfather. Hell, he can’t let on we’re related.

“Why did you request a transfer, PFC Castiglioni?” Frank asked that out of genuine curiosity.

She prepared an answer in advance. It was even mostly true, but she knew better than to tell Frank the complete story. Eleanor was relatively sure Frank would strangle Kevin. Eleanor was still pissed off at her older brother, but did not think he needed to be killed. She thought they would be able to reconcile in the future. “Because I wanted space from my brother. He’s too concerned for my well-being so I thought if I put some miles between us, he could focus on doing his job.”

He accepted the response as it made sense to him. Frank thought she was omitting a detail or two, but chalked it up to a disagreement between siblings. Probably better for David to have his children on different fronts.

“Congratulations on getting married, Sir.” Eleanor offered.

Frank gave her a slight nod. “Your father tell you the rest of it, I presume?”

She nodded, there was no need to mention the children. “I’m happy for you, Sir.”

Frank, a pragmatic person, thought the casual discussion of his new family could wait. It felt odd, in many ways, to have a wife and children depend on him again. It felt frightening in still other ways, especially late at night when sleep came hard…if it came at all. “Enough of that talk. You need to go familiarize yourself with your fireteam. I’ve got work to do. You are dismissed, Castiglioni.” He turned his attention back to tasks that needed to be done. There’s an offensive to prepare for and a shipment of provisions to bring in.

She shuffled out of his office and flagged down Ortiz. Although maybe stung a little at his abrupt coldness, this gave her notice on just how she would be treated. He’s right about not showing favoritism—I’ll make sure to earn my keep.

And that served as Eleanor’s introduction to life in camp.

The next day, she pulled on her service clothes and met up with the others in her team. A Marine fireteam consisted of four members; a rifleman, a Team Leader, a Designated Automatic rifleman (second in command to the Team Leader) and an Assistant Automatic Rifleman, who packed extra ammunition. Eleanor, as a PFC, would be the scout and rifleman for the team. It would also mean that she’d have to learn to dodge bullets.  
Eleanor liked her teammates as soon as she talked with them and they chose to see her as a tough little sister. Of course, they knew Captain Castle ran a tight ship and harassment of females would not be tolerated—not that they’d harass her, but he had given the entire company clear warning if any of his men ever sexually harassed a woman, there would be hell to pay. 

“I hear rumors that command is going to launch an offensive.” Team Leader Nathan McNaughton said as he sat near Eleanor. Tall and lanky, he was nevertheless a typical Marine. He handed her a cold root beer as the Captain kept a tight rein on the alcohol when they were close to fighting.

“I hope so. I want to kill some HYDRA, maybe shoot some of ‘em in the balls.” Sergeant Gunnar Thompson said with a grin. “Oh and Castiglioni, stay away from that solitary outhouse. It’s called the ‘Jack Shack.’” He pointed to a solitary outhouse. All three of the men waited for her response. They were not disappointed.

She frowned, “Why is it called the Jack….oooohhh.” She blushed profusely as she realized what a Jack Shack was. They laughed at her reaction. “Yeah, I’ll stay out of there. Thanks for the heads up.” She knew Marines masturbated; Out on the field, there was an unspoken agreement to politely turn away if there was not a dereliction of duty. In Alaska, Eleanor learned to ignore the strange sounds emanating from tents.

“Ah, we got ourselves a Marine just starting out.” McNaughton said, with a friendly note in his voice. “Have you seen any action?”

“I was at Camp Lejeune when it was attacked.” She recalled the noises, the blood, the sharp tang of fear. She remembered rising above the racket and letting loose on the HYDRA soldiers. Blood pooling and hardening on the ground. I still see those dead men on their backs in one last attempt to keep their guts in. The caws of crows, circling to sample our dead Marines. She remembered her deceased friends and the light in her eyes turned predator cold. There was a darkness in Eleanor, an insidious presence, that loved to kill. She wanted another opportunity to slaughter more HYDRA. She wanted to unleash that anger and make everyone responsible for Camp Lejeune pay for it in blood. “I killed a few enemies. I’ve been blooded.” 

“Oh Jesus.” McNaughton grimaced. “You’ll have your chance at payback here. That I’ll promise you.” The rest of the fireteam were sympathetic in the way military people could be: they distracted one another from that incident with ribald comments and insulting other branches of the military. Eleanor gave back as good as she got with them; she needed to fit in and participating in what she secretly thought of as silliness became a team building exercise.

Aside from daily duties, waiting on one’s haunches was the name of the game for bored Marines. They were trained to shoot, kill and raise hell. Above all else, though, they were trained to protect. For now, though, they were held back from letting loose their fury. So all that youthful energy was turned into keeping the camp clean and goofing around when the officers weren’t looking. Music was played, young men tried to win Darwin’s ‘Survival of the Fittest’ award.

Eleanor just rolled her eyes at their hijinks, clearly unimpressed. She just leaned back and tried to find something to enjoy about the dry heat permeating her fatigues. She closed her eyes as a trickle of sweat slid down the back of her neck.  
The guards were the first to hear the whirling sounds of the multitudes of drones and they raised the alarm. Marines scrambled to get their guns and Eleanor kept hers close to hand. 

Frank immediately stepped out of his tent, M16A4 in hand. He saw the drones just as the first wave collided with the ground. They exploded and men screamed as shrapnel tore into them. “Start shooting them; worry about the bullets later! Fan out, don’t clump together. Cover the medics!”

Eleanor shimmied and moved her rifle in place. She fired and was awarded by the explosion of the drone, which took out several others. The debris rained down upon her fellow Marines like firework trails, but they remained unharmed for the most part.

Frank aimed at the drones with the intent of spraying them down. 

# # #

Trent smiled at his new guardian, Baron von Strucker. He had been given the run of his new home, a compound just outside of Latveria. The compound was fortified with thick cement walls and a state of the art security system. He liked it there. He underwent weapons training and physical conditioning every day and loved it. Von Strucker insisted on more intellectual studies as well, wanting an educated and worldly Winter Soldier. He wanted a Winter Soldier that could meld into society and become the male version of the Black Widow. Von Strucker was pleased to discover that Trent was intelligent and soaked up knowledge—and languages—like a sponge. In fact, Trent loved to read and learn new concepts, which von Strucker encouraged.

Trent was also keen on the idea of killing. Von Strucker soon found out, as the HYDRA leader—out of sheer curiosity—had the young boy slit the throat of a captured CIA agent. Von Strucker knew the lad was eager to stab his father, but it would be a different matter to kill a stranger. Trent did it with a particularly creepy smile on his face as his hands were sprayed with crimson liquid. Von Strucker recorded the incident and made sure it was forwarded to the correct channels. Von Strucker smiled, thinking of the impact it would have on Trent’s father. If, Von Strucker considered, the CIA allowed him to view it. I need to send out the clip to a friend or two in the FBI as well.

Trent recalled what the ruler of Latveria told Strucker before they left for the newly constructed military base. Doom seemed to be an immense man, clad in green velvet and steel armor. Trent was in awe. He had not seen much of the legendary ruler during his brief stay, but Doom had a certain heavy presence about him. Trent felt the intensity of Victor von Doom’s unique strength of will reverberate through his bones. Doom’s blue eyes were calculating and full of pride. “We are now even, Strucker. Doom always keeps his word. Now leave. I will not have you making trouble for me here.”

So, they had left, on speaking terms with Victor von Doom.

As he studied the Russian language, Trent began to think of his father. He hardly did that these days but when he did, his black little heart fiercely burned with anger for being put in the mental care facility. He preferred the life he led now, one consisting both of scholarly studies and of brutal ways to fight and kill. I’ll make everyone who hurt me pay. Even Dad has to pay for his sins against me. They all will.


	3. Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War, fathers and sons...sex.

Nick leisurely took a drag from his cigar as Rogue sat down in front of him. He liked her, and he seldom liked anyone, but he was at a quandary for what to do with her. Paper pushing and taking notes clearly bored her and he sympathized with that. She missed what she was trained to do, he thought.

Then, a few days ago, he received intel from a trusted source regarding the whereabouts of a certain traitor. That gave Nick an idea as to what to do with Rogue. It’d be a simple enough mission and one she would have an interest in, as it was due to Maria Hill’s leak to HYDRA that led to so many of her teammates being killed. And Rogue placed into the “tender” care of the enemy…Nick still felt anger over that but Rogue had emerged victorious. There was a bit of pride for her in his heart over her sheer will to survive.

“I’ll get to the point; we’re both people who appreciate brevity. I need someone who looks good in a bathing suit to do an important mission but I left my bikini at home.” Nick drawled.  
Rogue grinned crookedly, a charming quirk of hers. Ah knew Ah liked crusty old soldiers for a reason.

“So do you want me to go get a suntan or something?” Rogue inquired. “Surely you can send out any ol’ SWORD agent for that.”

Nick just stayed quiet for a moment. “I’ve located Maria Hill and I want her killed, not taken hostage or brought back. Just killed. I thought I’d give the job to you since she was the one that betrayed the whereabouts of the deployed group you were in.”  
Rogue grew thoughtful and considered her words before she spoke. “Ah miss being behind the rifle, Nick, putting an end to evil people. Ah really miss it.” She missed the feel of the hunt, of satisfaction of lining up the subject in her sights and pulling the trigger. She knew they would never harm an innocent soul again. “Don’t get me wrong; Ah love the children and Ah’m a good mom. Just….Ah have this drive to put evil doers down. One don’t get eviler than a traitor, not in my book at least.”

“You’re good at compartmentalizing your life, Rogue. But whatever darkness is in Frank is also in you. I see you looking at your fellow agents for just a second before I send them off. That cold hunger he has….you have it too and you need an outlet for it. I’ll find you small, one-man missions for you to accomplish. Will you agree to do this?” It was in his mind to start to teach her the finer points of intelligence gathering and filtering through information to locate the valuable data from erroneous material. In time, she’d make a fine Assistant Director. Moreover, though, he could trust her and he never wanted to misplace his trust again.

Rogue nodded, for personal reasons as well as being a job that needed to be done, decided to accept the mission. “Ah need childcare for the kids.”

“I’ll oversee their welfare.” Nick promised. “I’ll check on them myself. You’ll be in and out of there within a day, might be a long one, but you’ll be home at the end of it.”

“Ah don’t want you to get help from one of your call girls, Nick.” Rogue said sternly.

“Then how about from one of my friendly escorts?” Nick responded with a glint in his eye. 

“No!” Rogue retorted, then realized he was successful in riling her up. She laughed at his joke before she said, “Let’s get to the task at hand. Give me the details, Nicky.”  
He raised an eyebrow at the casual use of ‘Nicky’, but instead of giving her hell, Nick laid the plan out for her. “She’s at a resort in Aruba. I’ve got a cleanup crew there, bought out the rooms next to her suite, so don’t worry about making some noise. Don’t go crazy, Rogue, but you’ll be alright if there is a scream or two.”

“Need me to get answers from her?” Rogue inquired as he passed her a copy of Maria’s room key. “Can Ah choose my load out?”

“I’ve all the answers I need.” Nick said coldly. “She got greedy and sold us out. I don’t need another reason. As for loadout, sure, have anything you’d like. You head out today, Agent Castle. In about an hour.”

That’s quick, but he wants to get her before she scampers off, Rogue thought to herself. “Ah’ll be on my way, then. Ah’ll get this done for you, Director Fury.” She stood up and hesitated at his door, in case he needed to give additional instructions. For a slight sliver of a second, Nick saw the flicker of determination and eagerness in her deep blue eyes, those predator sharp eyes. They were so like Frank’s.

“I know you will. Now go get ready so you can haul ass home to Sarah and Michael.” Nick polished off his cigar and ground the used-up butt into his ashtray. “Transport will leave in thirty, so go pick out your gear.”  
Despite Nick’s clothing suggestion regarding skimpy bathing suits, Rogue chose a tight fitting SWORD suit, though she eschewed the white straps and holsters for a more practical color. Black. She picked out a 9 mm Beretta with a silencer. She grabbed another Beretta and some extra magazines. She slipped into the suit and zipped it up. Rogue also bound her hair into a tight ponytail.

Severe. Rogue looked rather severe. She glanced at herself in a mirror and saw that the willingness had returned at the prospect of what she was about to do. She felt no guilt or hesitation. She was given an order and would follow it through. Ah’ve ten minutes to meet up at the pickup point, it’s doable, but Ah’ve no time to waste.

# # #

Maria Hill, relaxed from the warm sun and a margarita or two, ambled back to her room. She smiled as she remembered the handsome man with laughing black eyes as he rose from the pool. After a quick nap, she thought she would see if he’d be at the bar. Maybe, if he played his cards right, she could keep him company for the night. I haven’t taken any man to my bed for a long time. I think I’m overdue for some adult fun. She awkwardly swiped her keycard to her room and entered when she heard a solid click, audible permission for her to come in. Maria immediately put it down on the small table near the door. She then locked the door and kicked off her sandals. She sighed and thought that a hot bath sounded wonderful at that moment.

Maria heard two abrupt shots and knew where that noise came from—a silenced hand gun. Those shots took out her knees and she cried out as she collapsed onto the floor. Pain ripped up her legs and her blood spurted out on the beige carpet. She searched the room for her assailant and found a woman sitting lightly on her bed. The woman wore a jet-black SWORD uniform, but she had drawn a white skull—presumably with chalk—on the chest of the garment. Maria Hill then recognized the woman; she happened to be Agent Lorelai Castle. The Punisher’s bride.

“Agent Castle.” Maria grunted and wished she were closer to her personal gun, but Rogue was the immediate obstacle to that weapon. “Let me give you my reason for...”

Rogue just snorted in derision as she rose catlike from the bed. “Ah ain’t here to listen to reasons. And frankly, Maria, Ah don’t give a fuck. The only thing that Ah’m interested in is punishment. You sold out your fellow agents, you led to our capture and rape at the hands of HYDRA. Nothing you could say would be justification enough for the innocent blood on your hands.”

She came around behind Maria and, seizing Maria by the hair, hauled the traitor up on her knees. Rogue ignored the pleas for mercy. Rogue had a plan in mind, she thought it fitting to perform the task execution style. “Ah suffered, Maria, because of you. Ah was raped and brutalized and Ah took my revenge from HYDRA. It’s your turn.”

Maria tried to stall her again and managed to stutter out, “I’m sorry, Agent Castle. Please don’t kill me. I’ll give you money, give you anything you need.”

Rogue yanked her black hair so that Maria was forced by necessity to look up at her captor. The drawn-on skull demanded fear, which washed over Maria and pulled at her conscious. It seemed to want to devour her. Coldness emanated from Rogue, and Maria stopped begging for her life. The woman would not be moved and the effort was useless. Maria thought that a hawk would show more mercy to its prey than this woman was capable of.

Rogue growled and became calm amidst her rage. The moment was born of absolute clarity, of black and white. Wrong and right. Killing Maria Hill was the right choice, and not just a mission to accomplish, nor a personal quarrel. She needed to be punished for her actions. The people she wronged remained in their grave, their relatives were grief stricken, but vengeance would be achieved. “Ah ain’t Agent Castle right now. Ah’m the Punisher.”

Rogue put the barrel of the gun to Maria’s temple and squeezed the trigger. Maria fell to the ground with a sigh. Agent Castle knelt and took a pulse until the heartbeat was gone. Rogue ignored the brain tissue and ruby drops of blood that clung to her gloved hand. “She’s dead. Ah better go back to the children.” Thinking of Sarah and Michael brought warmth back to her soul and that chilling resolve faded into the background, leaving Rogue to be a loving mother once again.

# # #

After the drone attack, the Marines were besieged by a horde of HYDRA. Loud pops populated the air and the Marines, as if one hive mind, turned violent.

“Semper fi, do or die!” Someone yelled, Eleanor did not know the man who boldly made that proclamation, but that galvanized the entire company into action. The energy could almost be measured by a seismograph. Pride surged through her even as the adrenaline rushed through her veins. She loved, lived and would die for the Corps or any of her military brothers.

Eleanor, along with her fireteam, yelled, “Ooo-rah!” She took cover behind a few sandbags and fired when she heard a lull in the action. Her bullets tore through their targets with lethal care.   
“Here, you’re running low on ammo.” The assistant automatic rifleman told her as he passed her fresh magazines for her rifle. The tag on his shirt read GRIFFITH and she wanted to kick herself for not remembering his name. 

“Thank you.” She replied as she stuck her head up to unload on the enemy. Then the rifle refused to fire. She hesitated for a second while her mind sought out the next step she needed to do.

“You have a weapon malfunction, Castiglioni! Tap Rack Bang, Marine!” Team Leader McNaughton shouted over the tremendous cacophony of battle. He fired his own rifle, fire blazed out of the muzzle as brilliant as the sun setting on a prairie.  
She slammed the bottom of the magazine with the flat of her palm, then racked the slide to clear the chamber. Eleanor raised the butt of her issued M16 up to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. It discharged correctly and she watched as it met the exposed throat of her now dead enemy.

Captain Castle waved to his platoons to proceed; he wanted to push them out and force them away from their supplies. He suspected that was HYDRA’s reason for the audacious attack; lack of food and medicine. No sane fighting force would take on the Marines otherwise. He plunged into thick of combat, decimating every fool before him. Five men followed him into the abattoir that ensued. Eleanor, acutely aware of the soul crushing noise of combat, maintained her wits about her. Men cursed as they were shot and she heard others try to keep the wounded calm. She listened as one pleaded for his brother in arm’s life. Eleanor was close enough to hear a choked, gurgling noise. He’s drowning in his own blood.

She kept up a steady stream of fire, rewarded by the sight of bursts of gore and brains. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that her teammate Griffith had his head up just past the sandbag barrier. “Get your head down, Griffith!” She hissed.  
He turned to exchange friendly words with her then she watched in detached horror as his face shattered with the force of a slug. Blood spattered onto his uniform, her face and she went to help him. She searched for signs of life as McNaughton hustled over. She shook her head and McNaughton took a deep breath and steadied himself. There was no time to mourn. That would come later.

“C’mon Marine. The Captain ordered us to follow him into hell. Let’s kill some assholes.” McNaughton said.

“For Camp Lejeune. For Griffith.” She looked McNaughton dead in the eye and he gave a grim grin in response. 

Captain Castle waded hip deep in blood, savagery in his heart as he bayoneted a foe through the throat. He broke the nose of another as the stock of his rifle made violent contact with the appendage. Some Marines behind Frank provided cover and support as he killed his way through the pack of HYDRA. He was the rock enemies shattered themselves on. He ignored their feeble attempts to bring him down; he shrugged them off as easily as flies. Other Marines took up guard as they flanked their well-respected and beloved Captain. Eleanor was one of them. She slung her rifle over her shoulder before she pulled out her handgun. She killed the first enemy that came before her with a round to the eye, she saw the gush of fluid and blood. She moved onto the next, all the while half watching her grandfather in action. Ferocious beauty in motion. He’s doing brutal things but there is a poetry in that.

She understood now why people feared him. He had no compunctions about bringing the pain and would do whatever he needed to do to complete his objective. Eleanor grunted as a sharp pain ripped through her arm and she knew she’d been shot. She ignored the discomfort and continued to fight on. I’m not a pussy. I can do this. Some man slashed at her other arm, cut through her uniform and flesh then was put down like a rabid dog.

The rest of the battle blended into oblivion for Eleanor until she realized she was lying down, jacket off to reveal her bloody arms and tshirt. She blinked then was aware that Captain Castle was sewing up her arm. It hurt and she tried not to wince. “You were shot and sliced up. These are injuries I can deal with. The medics have their hands full.” There was a grudging respect in his gravelly voice. “You did well, Private First Class.” His needle deftly sewed up her gunshot, as if he were very practiced at sewing flesh together. She thought that maybe he had to stitch himself up a time or two.

“Thank you, sir. Just patch me up and send me back out there.” Eleanor said, faintly. Tired as she was, she needed to be out in the field. She lost blood and felt rather dizzy. She closed her eyes and kept herself from tensing up as he started on her other arm. 

“You’re to rest, Castiglioni, since you lost a good deal of blood. The fighting is over. Ortiz called in for reinforcements and the opposing force has been neutralized.” The two of them stayed quiet as he put in thirty stitches. Instead, they heard the groans of Marines who were in worse pain. Some were even dying and she focused on the comforting words of their friends.

“Rest easy now….I’ll give your letter to your wife….” She heard the occasional lie such as, “You’ll make it, brother. You’ll make it.” Her heart ached and she remembered the Christmas massacre of her siblings. She ached for Trent, who seemed to be completely warped by the tragedy.

“You were lucky to be just grazed by the bullet. The knife managed to cut in deep, almost opened an artery.” Frank applied a solution to her injuries then bandaged them up. Someone came by with water and cooked MRE’s and Frank got some for her. She shimmied up in her makeshift cot with some care. She glanced around and saw the agony of others, which sobered her even more. Blood decorated the uniform of the medics as if they had been to a paint ball party.

“Still want to do this?” Frank quietly asked. He’d transfer her out if that was what she desired. He needed to make sure this dangerous life was what she wanted.

“I want to be a Marine even more now.” She replied, as sure of that as she had been of anything else in her life. “I want to run into peril and do what I can to fix it, sir. I can’t do that at home or in college, sitting on my ass. Camp Lejeune didn’t scare me off so why should getting shot and stabbed?”

“Fair enough. Eat and try to sleep. We’ll need you soon, Marine.” Frank disposed of the medical waste properly. Then he left to go on his rounds. By the time that he had seen to all his injured Marines and camp affairs, Frank felt exhaustion start to make itself known. Exhaustion was an old friend. He settled on his cot and took a deep breath.

The rough voice of General Hicks brashly asked to come in, “Captain, we need to talk. Brass needs to have you haul ass to Parris Island.”

Frank gave his assent, curious as to why the Marine Corps leadership would go to the trouble to haul him up from battle to have a little chat. Hicks, as usual, wasted no time sauntering into Frank’s quarters. General Hicks came in with that broad smile of his. “Oh, it isn’t a bad thing. It’s not for a court martial. They want to be debriefed on the situation down here and they asked for you specifically. They also want to make you a Major; they’re impressed with your leadership. You’ll have two whole days there to spend time with your wife and children.”

“When do I leave?” Frank inquired. I’d like to spend a day or two with them. 

“Glad you asked. Right now. I see you’ve got your rucksack packed, so head on out. I’ll take care of your responsibilities here.”

# # #

So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say  
And nothing else matters  
\--Metallica, Nothing Else Matters

Frank hesitated at the door of his home, weary to the marrow of his bones. He knew Rogue was inside, he could hear her sweet voice singing as she made dinner in the kitchen. Frank loved the sound of her as much as he loved the feel of her beside and under him, hips rolling against him with clear invitation. Her smell was like the jasmine flower, intoxicatingly rich and fragrant. He loved her more than he thought he was capable of.

He dropped the rucksack on the porch, near his well-worn combat boots. He wore his fatigues, not wanting to take the time to change into clean civilian clothes. I simply want to be with her and our children. That old familiar stab of some emotion resembling fear got him in the gut. He feared losing his new family. Maria bled out in the operating room. She saw what happened to Lisa, saw the intestines coil around my hands, saw Lisa’s life fade away. My wife heard the assuring lies I told our daughter. I couldn’t tell her the same lies. The images were vividly colored in his mind, every moment of their agony deeply ingrained in him. He brushed off the past and came back to the present. To Lorelai, Sarah and Michael. They were his future and his remaining connection to humanity. 

He knocked on the door and was rewarded with Rogue calling out, “Ah’ll be there in a moment.” This was a surprise visit; he managed to get two days off to spend with them and was determined to do so. Frank didn’t tell Rogue, of course, as he wanted to watch that spark of unexpected happiness in her eyes. Then, there was the chance the visit would be unapproved and he refused to get Rogue’s hopes up. He reckoned that it was better to astonish than to disappoint her.

Rogue opened the door with a very happy and well-fed Michael in her arms. She just stared at him for a moment, then her blue eyes watered and the tears spilled down her cheek. “frank, Frank…oh, it’s you.” She kissed his lips passionately. Every fiber of her being missed him. He, with all the gentleness he could summon, swept her up in his arms and took care not to smother their infant son. “I got leave. It’s not for long, tonight and tomorrow, but long enough to catch my breath.”

“Ah made lasagna from scratch. Why don’t you go help yourself to it while Ah put Mikey in his bassinet?” Rogue grinned at him. “Maybe serve Sarah some grub, it’d be a help to me.”

Frank replied simply, “Yes ma’am.” He picked up his rucksack and stuffed it in the coat closet. It would do for now.

Sarah tore down the stairs, a fiery haired dynamo. He remembered Kathryn every time he laid eyes on Sarah. Memories mostly bitter but some were bittersweet. He tried to squash the memories of O’Brien, unsuccessfully, like he tried to kill those of Maria and Lisa. However much he regretted O’Brien’s death, he could not regret the daughter they made; the physical promise of a better future. “Daddy! You’re home? Is it for good?”

He knelt and hugged her. “No. The bad men still need to be dealt with. I’ve been given permission to visit the three of you.” Frank was an old-fashioned man, but he demonstrated his affection more readily than his own Italian father. Hugging and coddling is what the mother is for, a spanking is what fathers do. Words directly from Mario Castiglioni. Frank respected and looked up to his father, even loved him, but there was a detachment between them also. It had not escaped Frank’s notice there was a great divide between him and David. He vowed, when he got Maria pregnant at nineteen, that he would be a better father. Except for the extended absences, Frank proved to be a great father.

“Come on, your mother wants me to feed you.” He hauled his daughter up and plopped her on her chair. He put child size portions, or what he thought were the right amounts, on her plate. Sarah dug in with abandon as served himself. He rested in the firm dining room chair as Rogue sailed in and fixed up her own serving.

“Ah’m glad to see you. Ah’m happy they let you out for a day or two.” Rogue said, eyes sparkling and her lips promised to keep him busy later when the children were asleep.

Frank prayed he could stay awake that long. The lasagna was delicious, not a typical item on his dietary menu, but it certainly tasted better than the MRE’s provided by the Marine Corps. Sarah was like a bird, he noted with affection, always talking and bright eyed. She ate her food and asked for more, which Frank did.

I will make sure life is good for her and Michael. Lori and I will protect them, if we have to kill anyone stupid enough to make an attempt to hurt them. I’ll fit into this life; I’ve been given another chance to raise a family and fix my mistakes. I can’t fuck it up. Frank kept his thoughts well hidden, though Rogue gave him an inquiring look. She always knows when I brood.

After dinner was done, Rogue told him to stay put while she rinsed the dishes and arranged them in the dishwasher. With great tenderness, Frank cleaned off the marinara sauce from Sarah’s face, who giggled and peered up at him with the purest expression of absolute trust that only a young child possessed. That almost brought Frank to his knees. For the millionth time, he thought, I don’t deserve that kind of blind faith. I don’t.

After giving the children baths and putting them to bed, Sarah begged Frank to read her a story. “Please, Dad? Pleeeease?”  
It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, that he was exhausted, but he told her, “Yes, I will.” Don’t create regrets. Make that little girl happy, give her support she’ll need to grow up and be a functional adult. If I do nothing else worthwhile in my life, that would be good enough.

He read a Dr. Seuss book, Cat in the Hat, to Sarah. She asked him to read it again, which he did. Sarah fell asleep halfway through the second reading, so he placed the book back in her pink bookshelf. He glanced around the room, a pink and purple wonderland, accentuated with a gratuitous number of colorful equines. She’s fond of ponies, like Lisa. Must be a girl thing.

He checked in on Michael, sleeping under a silver beam of pure moonlight that came in through the bedroom window. He smiled and thought of his oldest son, Frankie. Or Frank. Or David. Whatever the hell my son wants to call himself nowadays. He had been informed—from his granddaughter—that the name he took officially was Frank David Castiglioni. Suppose there isn’t much harm if someone figures out we’re related. I’ve gone legit, got rank and influence in the Corps. He’s got more power as the head of the FBI. The tired Marine briefly wondered why David wanted to reclaim his full name. I’ll solve that puzzle later. It’s time for bed.

His heavy combat boots clunked on the floor, a slight squeak emerged from the floor boards as they meekly protested his weight. He approached the master bedroom, the soft glow of a bed lamp beckoned to him as if it were a lighthouse. He began to get a different kind of smile on his face, one of anticipation. He opened the door, shut it behind him and was not let down by the sight before him.

Rogue wore barely there lingerie. A sheer black lace bra and matching panties, cut high on her hips accentuated the length of her legs. The bra displayed her nipples, turning them to a dusky rose color and the fullness of each breast. The ebony fabric showed her alabaster skin to perfection. He observed with rising interest, the curve of her waist, her flat stomach and the mysterious territory between her thighs. He craved her, wanted to let his fingers explore her again and feel her arousal against him. Frank desired to taste her ecstasy against his lips and he vowed not to surrender until she quivered under him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed as he removed his jacket and tan t-shirt, his dog tags on his now naked chest. Rogue slid of her side and saucily sauntered around until she stood before him. With a sensual smile, she unhooked her bra and threw it off to the side. She then pushed her panties down until they fell in a silky whisper to her feet. She knelt in front of him, her attention drawn to his boots. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Frank protested.

“Ah know, but Ah just want you to relax and let me do the work. That’s an order, Captain.” She pulled the boots off. Her hands crept up the insides of his muscular legs until they came upon his belt. She unfastened his belt then focused on getting his zipper undone.

“Yes, ma’am.” Frank said, bemused. He laid back on the bed and lifted his hips to assist her. She quickly rid him of his pants and then boldly admired his body, decorated by scars and built like an Adonis. His muscles were sculpted, capable of great feats of both strength and tenderness. When he looked at her, he saw the lust swirling in her eyes.

She straddled his middle and began to kiss his neck as her slender fingers traced his jaw, his solid heat began to rise against her. He caressed her back and made a trail of sensation down her spine before reaching her full rump. His hands gently squeezed her. She shivered against him, then continued to rain kisses on him, lips hesitating at the pulse of his throat. She looked toward his face and saw the outright naked desire in her husband’s eyes as she felt him throbbing against her down below.

He abruptly, to her delight, kissed her hard then rolled her on her back. He smiled as he covered her figure with his own, making sure to keep his weight off her. He weighed about a hundred pounds more than she and he did not want to crush her. “It’s been awhile. I’ve missed you, Lori.” He sensed her need to connect with him, to create a memory that she could cling to during the lonely nights when he was away fighting.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulled him tight against her. “Ah’ve missed you, too. A lot.” 

The hunger seeped into her voice, the hunger to be loved and touched. After another kiss, he roamed her body with his mouth, teasing sensitive areas and tormenting her at the same time. Ever methodical, he treasured all of her. He watched with satisfaction as tiny goosebumps burst out on her naked skin

“Frank,” She panted as he parted her thighs. Rogue felt his hot breath on the delicate skin of her inner legs and then gasped as she realized just what he was doing there. Velvety strokes of his tongue brought moans and she entwined her fingers in his hair. He held her hips in place as he concentrated his efforts. “Frank,” she repeated and closed her eyes as another wave of pleasure shot through her. “Now…please!”

“Tell me if I hurt you.” He whispered, his tone husky with unadulterated desire. At her nod, he settled between her hips and drove home. He was relentless in the pursuit of her pleasure and refused to give in to his own until they were both trembling and sweaty.

Rogue sighed with contentment once they were finished. She knew he was awake next to her, she sensed it.

“What have you been doing for Nick?” Frank asked. He leaned over to kiss her forehead.

She had been dreading this topic, but she opted to tell the truth. She relayed the entire story of Maria to him with some apprehension. “Are you mad at me, Frank?” She peered into his eyes, but he had pulled on his mask of inscrutability.

“I’m not mad. I think Nick’s right and this is something you need to do. Just in case we’re not able to care for Sarah and Michael, we need to designate a guardian for them.” Frank knew they needed someone as backup in any event. I’ve ruined her. That was a thought he always had but it remained with him. 

“David. He’s the best candidate. Well-off and able to provide for them. He’s been after me to meet them, but Ah said not til Ah talk to you about it.” Rogue said, and relished having Frank beside her. He filled up the normally lonely bed, though sometimes Rogue would let Sarah take a nap with her.

Frank looked at her skeptically. “You think he’d be best for them even though he called you a slut?”

“David’s got some deep seated emotional problems, Ah’ll admit, but that’s due to situations that were beyond his control. He wants his father’s love—that would be you, by the way—because underneath it all, he felt abandoned when he was younger. Ah understand that feeling very well. Ah forgive him.” Rogue snuggled further next to him, her skin against his.

“He’s my son. If I didn’t love him, I would have just let him stew in his own vomit and withheld my advice. I just can’t be the father he needs. He should respect that.” Frank admitted. “Part of why I can’t be what he wants is because I spent so little time with him when he was younger.”

Rogue wondered if there were more to than what he was saying, but let it go. It was none of her business; that was between Frank and David to work out, if they could. “Then can David come over to meet his half siblings?” Maybe Frank can’t get past how he let his family down and David is a physical reminder of that.

Sleep began to drag him under, but he managed to say, “Yes, but not when I’m around.” He could not forgive David for insulting his wife. 

He dreamt that night, aware that this was a dream and not real life. Rogue told him to get ready to go to the park for a picnic, that it was a bright sunny day and they all needed some fresh air. He wanted and tried to say no, that he knew what would happen if they went, but he was paralyzed and unable to respond. He found himself going along with the plan, all the while helpless to resist.  
The creeping sense of doom increased as, in his dream, they made their way to Central Park. Rogue smiled and laid out a blanket on the very spot where his first family died. Again, he could not speak out but instead sat next to her while she held Michael and Sarah ran around them. 

“There’s a reason Ah wanted to go the park, Ah’m pregnant.” Rogue beamed at him.

Frank replied, “Really?” Maybe this wasn’t going to be a nightmare after all. The day was beautiful. He could hear the birdsong and smell the somewhat fresh air. Fresh for New York City, that is.

The bullets entered Rogue’s chest and the small body of Michael. Both Rogue and Michael were instantly killed. Sarah was next, gut shot like Lisa. Her death would be agonizing. Helpless, unable to help them, Frank suffered the same fate, shot through the chest. He looked up and saw Mystique laughing at them, a tommy gun in her hand. Confused, he remembered she was still in her prison cell and this was a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

“I told you that I’d make you pay. Enjoy the rest of your life, Francis, short as it will be. “Then she vanished, leaving him alone with his dead family. 

He stood up, his paralysis dissipated at last. Frank’s gaze was drawn down and to his shock, Maria and Lisa lay amongst the others. Their wounds were just as fresh and their eyes glazed over with cataracts of death.

“You failed them like you failed us, Father.” That deep and haunted voice belonged to David. David just stared at him with a blank and pale face. “Their blood are on your hands. You can wake up now, Dad.”

Frank jerked back into wakefulness. Sweat poured down his forehead and he turned to Rogue, who blissfully emitted a snort in her sleep. She had the countenance of an angel when she was asleep. The clock on the nightstand gleefully informed him that it was 2 o’clock. Five hours of sleep.

He left the bed and donned sweatpants. After a nightmare like that, no more sleep was possible. Frank checked on Sarah first, still secure in her little pink and purple world. After assuring himself that she was fine, he backtracked to Michael’s nursery. His son was awake and staring at the mobile over his head, with little stars and moons. He waved his little arms around and cooed when he saw Frank.

Frank picked him up and brought him down stairs. If Michael cried, Frank would take care of him so that Rogue got some more shut eye. Frank sank into his recliner and let Michael rest on his chest and lost himself in thoughts regarding fathers and sons.


	4. Dangerous Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how much longer I'll be posting here. Seems like a waste of time, hardly anyone likes my stuff. But I'll at least finish this story before abandoning A03.

Frank dressed in his dark green formal wear as Rogue helped him to attach his rank onto him appropriately, then tightened the tan tie. “Lookin’ good, Captain. Lookin’ mighty good.” She leaned back to officially admire her handiwork—ok, what she really did was to ogle her husband’s posterior—and made additional adjustments so that he would be presentable even to God himself. She smoothed down the back of the jacket as he attached his badges and medals to the front.

“Ah love it when you wear a uniform.” Rogue was tempted to haul him back to bed, but he had an important meeting to attend. She only wished he told her about the meeting last night instead of this morning, but realized that family life had taken over for the moment. And she was grateful to him caring for Michael, it gave her extra rest. This respite was too short for her to nag him over it anyway. Hell, life is too short to spend it on nagging. Why waste the time and energy doing it?

“Thank you, ma’am.” He responded. He noticed the frisky gleam in her blue eyes and touched her cheek with some regret. Rogue was twenty-one, nearly twenty-two years old, and while she was in many ways older than her tender years, he knew Rogue tended to be skin and contact hungry. He reasoned that not being able to touch someone for eight or nine years would do that to a person. “Later tonight, I promise. I head out tomorrow. You have protection?”

“Yeah, with a full-time job workin’ forty to fifty hours, you off to defend the shattered remains of our country, two kids and a house to keep up…we don’t need another little one. Ah’m on the pill, don’t worry.” The thought of having another child right now was enough to make that white streak in her hair even wider. “Ah love the children, but two is enough for a while.”

Frank gave her forehead a kiss. “Anything interesting you’ve learned?” Why not ask Rogue if she’s heard any intel? Couldn’t hurt. She’s in a talkative mood.

“Well, nothing much on the international stage that you don’t already know. With Nick’s permission, Ah have been investigating my half-brother. Turns out he works part time for an organization called the Templars, nicknamed Hitmen for Jesus by mercenary companies. Anyhow, from what Ah’ve ascertained through reports and such, the Templars have strong connections to the Catholic Church. Ah consider that odd because the Church is supposedly against murder.” Rogue finished up and sighed. “Nick’s curious enough to send me snoopin’ down South. There’s not a lot known about the Templars and Ah might just be his way inside.”

“Be careful if you take the mission, Lori.” Frank warned.

“Ah know my brother’s a potentially dangerous man and Ah’ll watch my back.” Rogue swore to him and lightly traced the purple heart medal on his chest with her slender trigger finger. “A major concern of mine is that there isn’t a sitting President. The generals still have control. That alarms me for a goodly number of reasons. Mostly, Ah’m worried about them gettin’ used to all that power and not wantin’ to let go. It bothers Nick, too. Ah reckon he’ll say something if the situation becomes untenable.”

Frank nodded. That was worrisome. “I’ll keep an ear open and let you know what I discover. “

A knock at the front door told them they had visitors. Frank peered out their bedroom window to spot a military vehicle. “I have to leave.”

“Duty calls for both of us.” Rogue agreed. She needed to send Sarah off to school in a few hours. Nick had graciously given her the day off. 

“Semper Fi, Lori.” With that, Frank left. He wanted to leave before the children woke so he could avoid protracted goodbyes. Military conferences could be very long and he only had a rudimentary understanding of what was to be discussed. He prepared his thoughts and suggestions for the generals, of course, but had no inkling of what they wanted to bandy about.

He put on his mask of intense seriousness like he shrugged into his Kevlar vest. He walked into what could best be described as a war room. A big round table dominated by decorated generals with their aides hanging around like spiders in the background.

They smiled at him but told him to remain standing. The commandant of the Marine Corps left his chair and came over to Frank. “We’ll start off this meeting with good news. Captain Castle, we’ve decided that since you have served with such honor and distinction, that you have earned a promotion. You are now a Major.” He came over and removed the captain rank and put the major pins on him. The commandant added with a wink, “We expect you will go even further in the Corps. Maybe you’ll get to be General.”

They’re grooming me for advanced leadership. Frank bit a sharp reply, but simply stated that he was honored. 

Then everyone sat down and the discussions began in earnest. Frank gave facts when asked and kept his personal opinions to himself. Such as it was his opinion that the generals should be out there fighting with the men, not secreting themselves away in a dank room. Let them see men die, let them see the sacrifices made on the field. Let them see the blood.

Five hours later, the meeting was adjourned. Before Frank was permitted to leave, a general by the name of Thompson, waved him over. “We’ve got intel related to your family.”

That perked his interest and Frank met up with him. “Tell me.”

“Well, HYDRA has put a hit out on your wife. One million dollars, dead or alive.” General Thompson said, as he helped himself to a glass of water.

Frank felt his blood boil and red tinged his vision. Did Rogue know about this? Did Nick Fury? “Where did you get this information?”

“From Nick himself. He did not tell your wife as he was busy verifying the lead he got. He didn’t want to worry her. It has been confirmed as true—fifteen minutes ago, as a matter of fact--and he’s going to keep her on base indefinitely. In addition, we’ll be supplying protection as well. It’s best if she doesn’t leave Parris Island for any reason.” General Thompson did not want to fail Frank Castle’s new family. If he loses them, who knows what monster will be unleashed this time. And I could not blame him. Keep his wife and children alive and that will control the force of nature known as Frank Castle.

“I’ll talk to Lori, apprise her of the situation.” Frank said. He was going to lay out plans for her in case the war made a turn for the worse. They did have a contingency plan in place, but they were going to brush up on the finer details.

“Good. Tell your lovely wife that we will be surveilling your home. We won’t be intrusive.” General Thompson wanted a cigarette. “You’re dismissed, Major Castle. Go take the rest of the day off. You’ll be expected to show up at 0400 to be shipped off.”  
Frank left with not so much as a word. He had more pressing issues at hand than being polite to a General.

She got done with straightening up the house when she noticed Frank emerge from a military Humvee. Pleased that he made it home before Sarah, she watched him walk through the front door. A robust, sweet smile turned frail when she read his countenance. Dark, nearly unreadable and thoughtful. Rogue knew him well enough to know that was a dangerous combination.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Rogue inquired. She noted the change of rank on him immediately, her sharp eyes trained to observe minutiae. He’s Major Castle now.

“HYDRA has ordered a hit on you of one million dollars.” Frank said, dryly.

Rogue thought for a moment before saying to lighten the mood. “Ah’m worth a helluva lot more than a cool million.” 

“Be serious.” Frank muttered, as gently as his gruff voice would allow. He was not in the mood for humor. “The military is going to confine you to base and General Thompson said the house will be surveilled. I’ll bet that Nick will not be sending you out on the field.”

Rogue crossed her arms and her brow furrowed in consternation. “So basically, Ah’m under house arrest.”

“Basically, yes. General Thompson did not say this, but I think HYDRA wants the children.” Frank put his hand under her chin and she lifted her face to stare into his eyes. Fear. Not visible to normal people, but Rogue felt it spear into her. “You cannot let them have Sarah or Michael. They have Trent and I’ll be damned before HYDRA sinks a claw into our children. I know what HYDRA is doing with Trent. Nick filled me in.”

Rogue was horrified and all traces of levity vanished. “Oh my God.” No wonder he’s so tense right now.

“IF I were to be killed, run. Take the children and go to the underground bunker for a month or so. You know which one. Then you can proceed to the next part of our plan.” Frank, relieved that the seriousness of the situation sunk in, told her.   
She said that she would. “Did you see the video with Trent in it? Nick had me watch it. Von Strucker made him kill a CIA agent. For fuck’s sake, Trent is only nine. He slit a man’s throat! What in the hell is he going to be capable of when he’s grown?” Rogue thought that she would vomit after the viewing. “Ah informed Nick that under no circumstances David should be permitted to know about the video, let alone watch it.”

A knock at the door broke them from their conversation. Frank went to the peephole and looked out to observe Nick Fury’s face, distorted from the glass. “It’s Nick. Should I let him in?”

“Ask him for the password.” Rogue whispered.

“What’s the password?” Frank bellowed and gestured for Rogue to stay behind him.

“Sassafras.” Nick returned with some vigor. He sure as hell knew why Rogue requested a password and thought it made a good safety precaution. There was very little chance a shapeshifter would just so happen to know this particular word.  
At a signal from Rogue, Frank opened the door and Nick came inside. 

“Nice to see you, Frank. Heard you got a promotion to Major.” Nick helped himself to a seat on the couch.

“I did. Thompson mentioned something about going as far as I wanted to go in the Marine Corps.” Frank drew the curtains so they had semblance of privacy. Rogue and Frank then took rest next to Nick.

Reference to Thompson gave Nick an opening. “I know Thompson informed you about the reward on Rogue’s head. What I withheld, because I wanted to tell you about it in person, is that there is a bounty on the children’s heads. Two million each. I’m here to set up protocol for Rogue to follow regarding safety.”

He held out a gun, a highly advanced prototype, for Rogue to take. “This gun will only fire with your finger on the trigger. The weapon will soon be issued to all SWORD and SHIELD agents. It’s been coded to your DNA, there’s a chip in it. I hope you don’t mind me taking that liberty. Stay armed at all times.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rogue said. The gun came with an underarm holster and straps, so she shimmied into the harness and slid the gun into its proper place.

Nick snorted. “Don’t call me that. Agent Castle, I work for a living.”

Frank restrained a smirk at his colleague’s remark. 

“There’s another topic I’m going to bring up while I have the both of you here.” Nick leaned toward the Castles. “The super soldier program has been restarted. I think you’d be a good candidate.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow with a fair deal of incredulity. “You just gave me a gun to defend hearth and home, now you want me to endanger myself by becoming a lab rat?” She crossed her arms and settled in to hear his logic on the matter. But she had something else to say while she sat there. “You still haven’t given me that implant you were talking about. Yeah, that’s right. Ah haven’t forgotten that promise.”

“Women and elephants have very long memories.” Nick said, with some humor.

Rogue chose to take that as a compliment; Nick could be an ass on occasion and she knew how to deal with asses. “Damn tooting. Now answer my questions.” Rogue was smart as a whip and chose to force Nick to the point, rather than play word games. She kept her gaze pointed and arms firmly crossed.

“If this serum works, you won’t need the implant. The serum will possibly override your natural abilities. It should, according to the lead geneticist, give you inhuman strength and invulnerability to ordinary bullets.” Nick offered, as a sign of peace on his part. 

Rogue sighed, a sound of exasperation and warning. The fingers on her right hand began tapping on her left arm. “And who is this lead geneticist of yours? Ah hope you didn’t give him or her any personal information about me.” 

“I did not, Agent Castle.” He paused. “His name is Dr. Nathaniel Essex and he’s been a government employee for fifteen years. He’s a tad on the cold side, but he knows what he’s talking about. He’s assured me that there is very little danger.”

Rogue told him plainly, “Ah’m gonna have to think about participating in this experiment and discuss it in private with Frank. Don’t expect an answer until we’ve thoroughly processed and discussed this.” She rather thought that this sounded too good to be true and suspected that Frank felt the same. Still, the conversation was worth having.

“I’ll be on my way, then. Stay on the base, Rogue. No gallivanting, no unapproved visitors either. I’ll clear them myself.” Nick informed her as he went to the door. He had other tasks on his plate and should get to them. “You’ll have agents escort you to and from work. Be safe and aware.”

Rogue felt as if she were being talked down to but swallowed her resentment. It went down hard. She tried to keep in mind this was for her protection and not him being condescending. “Yes, Nick. Ah’ll keep myself out of harm’s way.”

When Nick departed for work laden pastures, Frank let loose his initial thoughts. He stood up and leaned against the door, after he locked it. “I don’t like it, Lori. Smells off to me. The decision is up to you, of course, but my suggestion is to tread very cautiously.” He held back his instinct to tell her not to accept the ‘generous’ offer. 

“Ah feel the same, but it worked out just fine for Steve Rogers. It could do the same for me.” Rogue offered. “And Ah’d do anything to keep the kids outta HYDRA’s clutches, even do something Ah’m not comfortable with. Invulnerability and enhanced strength? Along with all this training? HYDRA would get an ass whooping of a lifetime if they went after them.”

Frank thought before he spoke, his skeptical nature acutely aware that Nick seemed to be preying on Rogue’s motherly instincts to protect Sarah and Michael at all costs. I might need to have a one-on-one talk with him, depending on how this plays out. “As I’ve said, it’s your choice. But there’s a lot we don’t know about that Doctor Essex. Nick said the procedure was safe, but just how safe is it? Does he have an ulterior motive? He’s a geneticist so I’m wondering if he is particularly interested in mutants?”

“All good questions, Frank. Maybe Ah’ll get Nick to introduce me to him before Ah decide.” Rogue said, after his words sunk in. “Ask some questions, kick his tires…so to speak.”

Just then, Michael piped up with a declaration of hunger. Rogue went to get him, but before she disappeared up the stairs, she said, “Ah’ll let you know what’s going on after you head back to the front. Let’s just try to enjoy the time you have left here.”


	5. Sinister Intentions

OOC: Please note that I am making up a good part of Raven’s history. Not canon. And thank you to all who read this. I appreciate you.

Mystique reclined on her bed as she nibbled on her mechanical pencil. She was, out of sheer boredom, writing her memoirs. Her intentions regarding the memoir were to have them given to Rogue. Oh, how Mystique wanted to see her foster daughter’s face when Rogue read them. She could only hope the words Rogue found would cut her. Due to the inhibitor devices, she retained the form of a twenty-something year old woman which belied the fact she happened to be born around 1880. Or so. She forgot the exact date as it happened to be a time she rather not recall. 

She had thus far written:

I was born around 1880 or 1881, out west. New Mexico, I believe. I was raised as a farmer’s daughter, scraping out a meager living with my Ma, Pa and three siblings. I choose, deliberately, not to name them as I feel due to their actions toward me further along in my story, they deserve to remain forgotten and cold in their graves.

They were strict and hard, yet loving to all of us until I hit twelve. That’s when I first became a woman and my skin turned blue. The cold, scared expressions tossed my way frightened me and I told them that I remained the same person. They didn’t care. They drove me out of the house saying that I was the devil’s child and not one of theirs. I had the presence of mind to take some food before I left. I cursed them and I remember thinking, “If I am the devil’s child, why not act like one?” I burned down my parents’ house but I believe my family escaped. I hadn’t blocked the windows. Silly me.

I wandered through the prairie, hot and thirsty. I passed out when I came to a stream and woke up to find three Indian men examining me. I freaked out and my skin shifted from blue to a deep tan, like theirs. Two of them wanted to kill me on the spot, but the third man, the oldest of them, told them to put their weapons aside.

Of course, I didn’t understand what they said, but he helped me get water. I thanked him by nodding my head. After a heated conversation, they led me back to their encampment. They kept me in a small tent, while I listened to a very heated verbal exchange. I was given food, though, which was generous of them. Finally, the old man came in and said with a word or two of broken English, “Stay…welcome.”

I did my best to assimilate, I learned their language and simple way of life. Yes, I was regarded with suspicion when I couldn’t control how I looked. Everyone feared me, except for that old man who I came to know as Broken Feather. He was a shaman, a medicine man, and I spent most of my time with him. 

He called me in a term that can be best translated as ‘skinwalker’. He helped me struggle to control my ability and under his tutelage, I did get the better of my ability. He taught me their language and their ways and I managed to fit in enough to get by. I never was made fully welcome by the tribe, but I accepted that. I had low expectations about humanity, even at that point in my life. Broken Feather’s acceptance was enough for me. I loved that old man, but everything I love gets destroyed.

A troop of white soldiers came barreling through the encampment, shooting at everyone. Even women and children. I told Broken Feather to stay put and shifted into a mountain lion. I chose not to wait to see his expression.  
It was awkward at first, but I soon got the hang of knocking soldiers off their horses and sinking my fangs into throats. One might say I was a natural born killer. I let out the primal scream of the fierce predator and it spooked the military horses and as the US soldiers struggled to control them, the warriors of the tribe rallied enough to get their outdated guns and fired back.

The soldiers were forced to retreat and I nipped at the heels of a retreating horse for good measure, nearly being kicked as a result. 

I owed these people for taking me in and I repaid them.

The tribe decided to move after that incident. I did not go with them, because they feared me. Fear is a palpable thing that sticks to your skin. I hated it then, but I relish it now. I conferred with Broken Feather and he agreed with my choice. Not that he thought that I would hurt them, but that the other members of the tribe might cause me injury.

So, after stocking up on food and other supplies, I left and headed toward civilization. New York City, to be exact. Let me tell you that hate is a part of human nature. I soon discovered that. Italians hated the Irish, saw them as job stealers, and there was a strong distrust for immigrants in general. Things haven’t changed much over time, just the ethnicity of the distrust. The city seethed with intentions of malevolent people. 

New York City has a dark heart and I grew to thrive in that urban jungle. It’s better to be the predator than the prey. I often took the form of a man, as it was unsafe to roam about as a lady. On occasion out of ennui, I would assume my natural sex, so I could kill the men stupid enough to think I was an easy target. I learned how to fight and be nasty about it. Word of advice: If you DO have to fight, fight to kill. Go for the eyes, throat and if you can, the groin. It’s harder than you might think to attack the groin, men tend to instinctively protect that area. I liked killing and thought of it as a public service, making the city safer for women and children. Only children can be considered innocent, and depending on the child, even that is up for debate.

I accumulated a great deal of wealth, through dubious means. For obvious reasons, I will not detail that here. I’m not going to be in this prison forever.

I wondered, as I saw people grow old and fade like dead flowers, why I never aged. I was glad to not suffer the indignity, of course, but it left me feeling extremely disconnected from humanity. I’m mistaken; I was always disconnected from humanity. However, that distance grew the older I got. I felt somewhat superior for not having such a fleshly weakness. In general, people are shitty and my time on this planet has only served to reinforce that belief time and time again. Men abusing their wives, wives slapping their husbands, children being killed by their parents. Not to mention how countries went to war with each other. How could one think otherwise? 

However, there are exceptions to the shitty person rule and Irene was one of them. She was one of the very few people I would call good. Frank Castle would be another person. He does awful things, but borne out of good intentions. I understand his motivations, better than most people. At his core, he is good. He’ll be a great father for OUR son, Michael. Lorelai ‘Rogue’ Castle might be his legal mother, but he is biologically mine and nothing she can say will change that. I find it very delicious that she’s raising my child with the man who fathered him. (If you read this, Rogue, he’s a world class lover.) I hope they both think of me as Michael grows. I grudgingly think she’ll be a decent enough mother, despite the poor examples she’s had. I’m honest enough to admit: I am a very bad mother. 

I’m wandering off my narrative, pardon me if you will. If you don’t, kiss my ass.

Irene and I met in the sixties, a time of love and hope. To call her beautiful would be an insult. She glowed. I fell in love with her and she felt the same. She didn’t even care which gender I assumed. For some unknowable reason, she loved me. During our time together, I nearly was convinced that perhaps not all of mankind were scum. Irene was the love and light of my life, the physical incarnation of optimism. I saw her get older and wilt, while I stayed my youthful self. It’s, pardon me while I search for the appropriate words to write, soul crushing. Then my wife died and that’s all I’ll say about that.

To say that I descended into madness after her death would not be hyperbole. I let my inner psycho out to play and I LOVED it. I brought pain, misery and an untimely demise to many men. I will say that for the most part, they deserved it as I primarily dealt in the underground culture.

A loud beep disturbed her from her writing and she quickly stuffed her paper and pencil under her mattress. She thought, “Someone must be coming to see me. I’m the only inmate in this wing.” Her curiosity was piqued and she attempted to make herself presentable. She watched as a man, older and grey haired, dressed in a lab coat stopped in front of her thick clear plastic cell. Two guards accompanied him and unlocked it. He told them to leave them alone and they disappeared back to their posts.

“My name is Dr. Nathaniel Essex and I’m here to give you a through medical exam. Courtesy—well, ordered by the US government.” His demeanor spoke of having received an excellent education and his voice was deep and reassuring. He put an old-fashioned doctor’s bag on her simple desk. His eyes, though, were colder than the iceberg that sank the Titanic. 

She shrugged off the foreboding sense of doom. He couldn’t harm her. She had rights as a prisoner, and she’d get an attorney if she had to. Might even be her way out of this hellhole if he were to illegally lay hands on her person. “I do not consent. I’m in excellent health.”

Dr. Essex laughed. “This is not optional for you. Since you’ve made enemies among the guards, it was easy to get them to look the other way. Complain all you want, but no one gives a shit about you.” He took out syringes and vials. They clinked together as he placed them in an organized layout for access. “I’ll be collecting various fluids and tissues from you.”

“I’ll fight you, you bastard!” Mystique yelled. 

He turned to face her and his eyes glowed crimson. Dr. Essex grinned, “Go ahead, Raven Darkholme. I’d like that.” 

# # #

Major Frank Castle waited to get on board the military plane that would take him back to his men. He had kissed his wife and children goodbye, though it meant getting Sarah up early. Goodbyes were awkward to him, but it was necessary. Sarah cried and hugged him. She gave him a red construction paper heart that said, “I love you, Daddy.”

He tucked that in his wallet with his military ID card after reading it. 

“Thank you for saving me.” She blurted out. “You saved me from bad people. I dream about them sometimes.” Sarah clearly remembered the incident that led to her coming to live with him. She still could ‘hear’ the gunfire and shouting if she tried hard enough. She also believed with the absolute surety of a child that no harm would befall her if Frank was around. To her young mind, due to the traumatic experience, warmth and security were inedibility linked to him. She loved him fiercely, for those reasons she could not articulate. But she could say thank you, so she did. 

The desperate ache in her eyes made him embrace her again and he told her, “It’s my duty to keep you from harm. I love you, too.” It cost a lot for him to say that, memories of blue eyed Lisa flittering around, ever present. Death never scared Frank; it was the realization that he had to live for others that gave him pause. “Your mother will keep you safe, too. I’ve got to go.” He looked over his shoulder to indicate to the vehicle that waited impatiently. He told Rogue goodbye and indicated Sarah might need some help. Rogue nodded and said that she’d see to it. He departed then, and Sarah felt the warmth go with him. To her, his departure left a vacuum in her heart.

General Thompson disturbed him from his thoughts. “Just received intel some Chinese soldiers have crossed the border near El Gato and have taken a small Texan town. They’ve killed the men and boys, while sending the women and girls across the border to be sold. Intel from the FBI and CIA have it that HYDRA is involved with the Chinese government. We’re going to send five thousand soldiers, Marine and Army, down there. You are under strict instructions to slaughter every Red and HYDRA. No rules of engagement. Just massacre those fuckers—every last one of them.”

Frank mulled this over. “May I request some provisions? I want napalm and bombers to deliver it. Enough of it to scare the devil himself.” El Gato was a small and secluded town with no nearby cities; the effects of napalm would devastate the enemy while keeping civilians relatively safe. Frank was astute enough to know that Thompson was asking him to make a bloody example out of the enemy combatants. Napalm would be the way to do it.

“You sure can. I’ll send in the request today and we’ll coordinate as soon as you get your ass down there. Castle, I want you and your Punisher company to take point in the offensive.”  
Being a symbol for the military is not what I wanted, Frank thought. He knew that the chain of command would take advantage of having him back, though. “Is that the new official name for my company?” His edged tone could cut through adamantium.

“Pretty much, Marine. You’re dismissed.” General Thompson grinned at Frank. 

Thompson’s attitude was a good part of the reason that Frank hated generals, except maybe for Hicks. General “Warhorse” Hicks, at least, was out on the field with the Marines. 

# # #  
David sorted through the intel at his desk. He put various sticky notes on them in order of importance and reminders to personally check the source of some of the information. David took his position with great seriousness. He wanted to pass on the data that he deemed accurate. He’d add the other bits of information to his report with the caveat that it was not verified. He would not be bullied—and certain people had tried—to tell slight untruths to convenience the generals so they could further their war. In this respect, David was his father’s son and possessed enough determination to not give in to those who would compromise his sense of duty and honor.  
His administrative assistant, an older lady that he came to respect for her work, knocked on his door. Her name was Maria Constanza. 

“Director Castiglioni? The new CIA Director is here to see you.” Her voice said, cheerily. The previous director had died of a heart attack two months ago. An autopsy and extensive toxicology screenings had not shown any signs of poisoning or foul play. Still, David felt uneasy about his colleague’s death. It just seemed too odd and he had been in perfect health.

David placed his sensitive information into manila folders and secured them in his desk. “Let him in, Maria.” 

Out of politeness’s sake, he stood to greet the new CIA Director. David knew only the name: Alex Jarvinen, a second-generation Finnish immigrant. A pale, blonde man walked into the room. Well-built and with blue eyes that rivaled the deepest color of Scandinavian lakes, Alex introduced himself to David.

“My name is Alex Jarvinen. Please, just call me Alex. I don’t like formalities while in a private atmosphere.” Alex smiled at David, who by this time, was hardened to charming gestures. D.C, he had concluded, was a cesspool. “How should I address you? Francis David Castiglioni? Frank? Or would you happen to be a Junior?”

David snorted. He knew someone was going to root around in his past. That was one of the motives as to why he claimed his full name, to prevent possible blackmailing attempts. “I’m a Junior. If you’ve done that much digging, then you know who my real father is. I’m not ashamed of him; he’s an exemplary Marine. Nor am I trying to hide my history. In fact, I gave Karen Page an in-depth interview about what happened to me. It should be out sometime this week. Friday, I think she said.” David got some satisfaction from seeing that smooth smile falter. 

“What the hell happened in Central Park?” Alex asked, all curiosity. 

David gave him the abbreviated version. If Alex wanted to know all of it, he could buy the paper like the rest of Washington D.C. Still, David hit all the pertinent notes. 

“That’s some heavy shit, David. So, your adopted father for all intents and purposes abducted you? Being a cop, he could’ve been an excellent witness and brought the mafioso to justice. Instead, he was selfish and replaced the son he lost with you. And left Frank without you.” Alex grimaced. This seemed an injustice of the highest and most personal order. Alex knew he was a prick at times, but he wasn’t a complete prick. He sympathized with David’s sad and sordid tale. Alex also believed him; the truth shone in David’s blue eyes. “Frank Castle deserved that pardon. Our justice system, which was designed to protect victims, fucked him over good.”

“I thought about it for a few months and concluded that I no longer wanted to be associated with the name Salvatore. I hate corruption and he … was as corrupt as anyone I’ve come across.” David admitted.

“That’s understandable and it speaks of your dedication to transparency.” Alex thought that perhaps David was too good of a person to be the FBI Director, a white knight in a sea of unscrupulous cutthroats. “Just be careful, David. People will try to backstab you with this information. Hell, the entire intelligence community knows you’re dating a reporter and they’re grumbling about it.”

David said slowly—and calmer—than he felt, “There have been no leaks. I do not keep any compromising data on electronic devices and I leave my work here. Furthermore, I do not discuss any topic close to work with her.”  
Alex leaned forward, his Nordic good looks were the opposite of David’s rugged handsomeness. “It just looks peculiar to us. Just a word of friendly guidance: hump and dump her. Before you catch serious feelings for her or vice versa. No good can come out of dating a member of the media, trust me.”

“Thank you for your concern,” David’s words came out stiffly. He came to love Karen, though he had to be convinced that she’d stay. They had a fight over his rational aversion to commitment, talked it through, and he asked her to be his girlfriend. She whispered in his ear that she’d not hurt him, that she was her own person and not like his ex-wife. That helped, though he dreaded the day when she brought up the topic of marriage.   
Alex extended his hand out to David and they gave each other a firm handshake. “It’ll be a pleasure working with you, David.”

“I’m sure it’ll be an interesting experience.” David kept his tone neutral. His instinct was to not trust Alex and he decided to listen. David thought, “I must work closely with him, so I can’t completely blow him off. Yet, he bothers me on a personal level. Especially after he told me to ‘hump and dump’ Karen. He’s given me a warning; best to heed that.” 

After that, Alex headed off and David opted to go home to Karen’s open arms.


	6. My Name Is Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome and needed!

I'll show you ruin, I'll show you vengeance  
I'll show you no one, and no one is calling  
I'll show you ruin, I'll show you heartbreak  
I'll show you loving, and sorrow and darkness  
I'll show you ruin, I'll show you evil  
I'll sing you a war song, I'll sing you a new one  
I'll show you ruin, I'll show you broken  
I'll show you shameless, I'll tear you wide open  
\--My Name is Ruin. Gary Numan

OOC: Finally! Another chapter. I’m sorry it took so long but I’m away 12 hours a day, five or six days a week. Work is tough but I am grateful for a job.

Will shifted on his feet, the dry Texas heat bored through the top of his head. He grimaced and wished he brought a hat. To be exact he wanted his wide brimmed Stetson, his favorite. He rummaged around in his tan duster coat until he found his binoculars. His guns hung comfortably at his side, embraced by holsters. “Why am I here again,” he thought? Then he remembered that he was drawn here by the need to see if he could save people. He hated violence, though he employed violence quite regularly, and he loathed what HYDRA did to undeserving innocents.

On his perch, a small cliff that overlooked the once peaceful town of El Gato, he felt a sinking sense of disgust. Swarms of foreign soldiers milled about, like flies over the dead carcass of an animal. He wanted to use his power against them, to drain them of their lives and to leave them as brittle husks. “They don’t deserve to live.”, he told himself. But, as he quickly assessed the situation, dismay rose as he believed there were about nine to ten thousand troops in the area. 

He observed three tanks. Chinese? He squinted and saw a few symbols spray painted on the side. Having not learned Chinese, he could only make an educated guess that they were indeed written in the Chinese script. He scoped the position and layout of the troops and memorized what he could.  
His eye was caught by a sharp movement in a small house. Several faces were peering out of a window, vivid bruises visible even from a distance. His lip curled and he spit on the ground. They were young and a tendril of their fear came to him. “Civilians. I don’t suppose I need to wonder why they’re still alive.” 

He scratched his chin. He knew he couldn’t go after them by himself. Yet, it went against his ethics to leave those women behind. “I need the cavalry. Wonder if there’s a company of military folks nearby.” He understood there had been fighting in Texas—everyone in the country who wasn’t an idiot knew that—but to find them would be the problem. 

Maybe, he considered, the cavalry came to him. He heard the soft thuds of boots behind him and smelled the oil used to maintain what he assumed were assault rifles pointed at his back. 

“Hands up. Identify yourself.” Came a harsh voice from behind him. He heard the guns and discerned with cool detachment. that more than one was focused on him. He slowly put his hands on his head. “Name’s Will Arsenault. My sister is married to a Marine Captain called Frank Castle.” It sure couldn’t hurt tossing his brother-in-law’s name out there.

They led him back to the enormous encampment and directly to the quarters of Major Castle. The lance corporal who attended to Wil also introduced them. “Major Castle, this man says he’s your brother-in-law. What should I do with him?”

“Leave him to me.” Frank appraised the man. Pale hair, dark eyes and a smile—why the hell was he smiling? Thought Frank. Will’s smile conjured up Rogue, the crook in the corner of their mouths were similar. His judgement told him that Will was not an inherently bad guy. Will did not have that odor about him. Still, there was an oddity about the younger man. Perhaps that was due to him being a mutant. Frank relaxed enough to want to question Will in private. “You’re dismissed, Marine.” With that, the Lance corporal left them in peace.

Will wanted to let Frank know about the women, so he spoke first. “Look, Major, there’s a few ladies being kept in a house in El Gato. I saw them first hand and I could tell they’ve been knocked about. We’ve got to go get them out of there.” There was an impatience about him. He was clearly eager to be off to liberate the civilians. But, in truth, his motives were not entirely altruistic. He hungered. He needed to eat and to sustain himself. He required other people’s life force and long ago he made a solemn vow to take it from those who had done evil deeds and were irredeemable. Will didn’t advertise this, but he used that energy to heal. Once, after being shot in the head, he had abruptly come back to the land of the living. He was unaware of what had happened, he rather thought that his power had gone out of control, but a pile of ten desiccated corpses lay at his feet.

Frank grunted, derision in his tone. “We had intel about everyone being shipped off or killed. Either the intel was wrong, or the women were considered expendable.” He tended to think the latter was the answer, but he had zero time to confirm his cynical thoughts. “Let me assemble a team and we’ll go after them. You’re coming with us to point out where the women are, but we’ve got to make it quick.” There was no question in his mind that he’d go rescue the women, but the bombers stuffed with napalm were due to arrive in five hours. They had to make this quick.

“Sounds fair.” Will agreed, amiably.

“Are you armed?” Frank leveled a look at him.

Will restrained himself from giving his stern and no-nonsense brother-in-law the obvious smart-ass gesture of wiggling his arms. “Yes, sir. I’ve got my revolvers on me. I can defend myself in a fight.”

“That’s good to hear. Follow me, Will.”

Frank gathered his Marines together for the selection of the fifteen men that would go on the mission. Will stood at his side and took in the hardened and resolute faces of these young people. “I’m looking for volunteers to go on a dangerous mission. I feel that it’s a necessary one because it involves civilians. Any takers before I start choosing?”

Will watched as a young woman, face dirty and with her assault rifle slung over her back, offered first. She stepped out from the pack, a whisper of blonde hair peeked from under her helmet and turned gold by the sun. She was tall—and muscular from what he observed. Hard to tell under her uniform. Her eyes were steely and Will thought he probably should not make her mad.

“Major Castle, I’ll go. It’s my job and my duty.” She said. 

Frank nodded. If there were women captive, he considered, her presence might soothe them. “You can go, PFC Castiglioni. I need fourteen more people.” It didn’t take long until the roster for the unofficial mission was filled to the brim. They loaded up on ammunition before marching off according to Will’s directions.

Will kept pace with them. Perhaps not easily, but enough to make sure he was an asset not liability. And, thankfully, it wasn’t too far from where he had been discovered. He crouched and the Marines followed suit. Will pointed toward the building and Frank scoured the building. He spotted several women inside, though Will was right—it was difficult to determine how many ladies were inside.

Frank noted the location, not in the center of town, but toward the back. He counted three tanks, like Will, but concluded they would likely be bringing in more. They see us as weak and bleeding, he thought. We’re going to remedy that. He spied a group of eight men loitering about the home. Several laughed at an unheard joke.

“OK, men, we’re going to need to do this as silently as possible. Neutralize them.” Frank drew a line across his throat. 

Will spoke directly to Frank. “Let me handle them. I’ll take them down quietly, trust me. Just…stay about fifty feet away from me. For your own safety.” With that, and before anyone had the inspired thought to ask why, he slid down the small embankment and eased his way deep into the brush. His tan duster and pale hair allowed him to blend in almost seamlessly.

Frank tracked his movements and permitted his men to follow in a single line, but stopped them when they were about sixty feet away. He heeded Will’s warning. They remain crouched in the brush while Will slid up to the troop, a snake in the golden grass. Frank monitored Will very closely, out of curiosity more than anything else.

Black, misty tendrils extended from Will. They wrapped around each of the men’s’ throats, keeping them from screaming in fear. Some of the Marines felt dread creep toward them like a dark tidal wave. Frank waved them back and kept an eye on them, terror written in their wide eyes. There was no sign of fear in Eleanor and he did not feel frightened. 

A few minutes later, Will gave a beckoning hand signal for the Marines to proceed. All of them took note of his eyes, a pure flat black fading into his normal brown shade. The tendrils dissipated and Will took a moment and shook off the residual feeling of satiation. He had eaten and eaten well. If he didn’t get shot or killed, he should be good on nourishment for a month or so. He hoped that he wasn’t fatally injured, his ability would spin out of control and would take from the nearest people—whom would probably be the Marines.

Frank thought they looked like a great white shark’s eyes, deep and fathomless. A killer, he thought, but one driven out of necessity. I think he makes sure to take from those who don’t deserve life. Otherwise, I would have heard about it. That did not diminish his previous musings that Will needed to be watched. He doubted Will would lay a hand on Rogue or the children, but the young man was still enough of a wildcard to bear monitoring.

As the company of Marines filed pass the corpses, it was hard to ignore the shriveled condition of the deceased men. A rictus of fear was permanently etched on each of the eight faces. Frank thought they rather got what they deserved.

“Here. This is the house.” Will whispered to Frank. “The easiest entry point seems to be through that side door. Bet it’s locked, though.” 

Frank nodded. The door in question was not well guarded, though he supposed that the invading force had no idea that a band of Marines would be brave enough to try to infiltrate the small town. “Single file, we’ll approach in a crouch. Maintain trigger discipline—we want to NOT make noise unless we have to. Those are my orders, Marines.” With those last words, he let his men know he would give them hell if they disobeyed. 

Everyone took heed. The unsaid command was this: No shooting unless fired upon. One did not make Major Castle unhappy—his discipline was known to be harsh and swift. Also, they did not want to risk being transferred out of one of the most prestigious companies in the Corps. Other marines longed to be in The Punisher Company; it was a status symbol to even be in this particular company. Frank was beloved—even considered a living legend—for his competency and superb military tactics. It would be a dishonor to tarnish his command.

Frank took the lead from Will and, using his trusty Ka-Bar, opened the door. Frank told two Marine to stand guard while the rest slowly trickled inside. The house was dark and the sound of hopeless weeping filled the Marines’ hearing. Eleanor rushed past Frank to make first contact with them. Frank observed this and let her only because she should make first contact. The presence of men might make the hostages think they were going to be attacked again. He did not want to deal with understandably panicked women.

She found them in the living room. There were about eight women huddled together and she sank to her haunches to talk with them. Her body position hid the rifle slung over her shoulder.

“I’m from the Marines. My name is Eleanor and I’m here with other Marines to help. Please stay as quiet as you can; we’re here to get you out.” She looked over the women, all were clad in flimsy teddies and as her eyes grew acclimated to the low light, she noted the cuts and bruises on all of them. Eleanor withheld a scowl; she knew why they were kept alive and she prayed that she would get the opportunity to kill a few HYDRA soldiers.

One of the women put her hand over her mouth to muffle the cry of relief. A few of the others teared up but the remaining women had a dull look to their eyes, as if they could not allow to believe this rescue was real. The stench of unwashed bodies assailed Eleanor’s sense of smell but she maintained her calm and caring façade. 

“Are there any women in the rest of the house?” Eleanor asked, acutely aware of the men behind her. They were getting anxious to leave. They were all vulnerable and knew it.

“No. Is this real? Are we going to be rescued?” One of the previously numb women spoke up. Hope sparked in her eyes.

Major Castle said, not unkindly but kept his words brief. He guarded the door and scanned the territory while Eleanor had been trying to not frighten the women. “We need to evac, ladies. Get on your feet and prepare to head out.” There was no time for comfort or to baby them.

That startled them into action and they rose to their feet. Frank was grateful that they all seemed able to move on their own. The women would slow the Marines, but at least they would be spared a horrible fate. He’d seen the effects of napalm on people and it wasn’t a pretty sight—which was part of the reason he requested napalm. If there were any HYDRA or Chinese survivors, he wanted them to tell others of the horror. He wanted to create psychological terror. He wanted HYDRA and China to know the armed forces would do whatever it took to defend themselves and the ordinary citizens. 

“The women go in the middle. I want Marines to the front and back. Ladies, if you hear a loud pop, hit the ground and cover your heads. Don’t move unless I give the order. If I tell you to run, zig zag. When my Marines crouch, do the same. Understand?” Frank told them in a firm commanding voice.

They all nodded, intimidated by his tone. 

“Thank you,” One of the women replied. She tried to stifle the urge to cry with pure relief.

He understood why the woman felt as she did, but he had no time or desire to deal with emotional breakdowns. “Don’t thank me yet. It’s going to be dangerous getting back to the base. Enough with the chatter, head on out.” Frank barked. A few of the women flinched, but everyone filed out according to his orders. 

Frank and Eleanor brought up the rear, with Eleanor just ahead of Frank. Will took his place just off to the side. His eyes were sharp and he felt distrust emanating from most of the Marines—they had seen his mutant ability and like most others who had the rare ‘privilege’ of witnessing it—feared him for it. And wisely so. The only thing that kept Will from being a monster was his own internal moral code.

Going back was slower. The women were physically exhausted and walking on bare feet in the Texas heat was dangerous—rattle snakes and sharp rocks being an additional risk. They stopped near the corpses of the soldiers and Frank made them take the boots. They tried to resist but a withering glance from him encouraged them to heed his demand. Waste not, want not, he thought. Also, I can’t have my men carry them unless necessary.

The women cringed, reluctant at touching a dead body, but the expression in Frank’s face spurred them on. His scowl was a great motivator. They laced up the boots, despite their trembling fingers, and they began the trek back up to the escarpment and to safety.

Will made an abrupt hand signal to Frank that indicated that everyone needed to hit the dirt. Frank whispered his order and the people under his care flattened themselves against the earth. Frank kept his head up to watch what Will was doing and if he were to pass any messages.

The young man pulled out his guns and Frank noticed they seemed to be made from a clear material—and very obviously not crafted out of metal. They were, in a word, beautiful. Then Frank saw why Will had withdrew his guns. A group of soldiers, a mixed gathering of HYDRA and Chinese by the look of them, were patrolling the perimeter. The women would be in danger, as exposed as they were.

“Go. Run.” Will mouthed to Frank. His intention was clear; to serve as a distraction while the Marines and the objectives of their mission escaped. Will was ‘expendable’; the Marines were not. The group of mixed fighters saw him and they took aim. Will darted away, distracting their attention from the hiding Marines.

“Let’s move. Quickly. He’ll be ok.” Frank muttered and both the women and his Marines took flight. Behind him, he heard thunder. Quick bursts of furious energy. He risked a look back and saw that several HYDRA had already fallen and Will was dancing out of the way of their return fire. Yeah, he’ll be fine, he thought. Just needs to finish them off swiftly. The bombers will be flying by in about two hours.

The escarpment was near; they all could see it. A few of the Marines rushed ahead to begin helping the women up with all due haste. One woman stumbled and was helped back up to her feet with Eleanor’s assistance. “We’re almost there.” Eleanor reassured her. The woman, to the point of hysteria, gave Eleanor a wan smile. One of the other Marines helped her up the short but steep incline, the woman’s boots kicked up dust as she scrambled for purchase. In what seemed like eternity, but only took a few minutes, all the rescued women were in relatively safe territory.

Eleanor scrambled up the side and was assisted by a brother Marine. She gave him a nod of gratitude then watched as Frank made his way up. He shrugged off help and took his place by them. 

“Get going.” Frank said.

“What about … the freak?” A Marine asked, a young man with an earnest face. “He helped us.” He was a freak but a useful one.

Frank didn’t much care for the use of ‘freak’, but rather than express his own views, only said, “He’s fully capable of handling himself.” He glanced toward Will’s last known direction. There was no evidence of gun play, no evidence of anyone standing until he spied a slight movement. Pale hair shone in the sun and the rustling of grass indicated that Will moved toward a direction further down than the spot chosen for extracting the objectives.

“Move out, now. We’ve still got a long day of battle ahead of us.” He ‘gently suggested’ and everyone jumped to comply. This was a successful mission, by any standards, but the women needed to get out of the broiling sun and probably required medical attention.


	7. Tomorrow is Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some discussion between Karen and David. Romance and tough love.

David drudged up the few steps to his front door, and with work bleary eyes, noticed the lights were on. That meant Karen was inside, perhaps—he thought—being considerate enough to make dinner. If not, he’d just toss a frozen barbeque chicken pizza in the oven and call that good. Work had been tough and he’d had enough of espionage shenanigans for one day. He planned to take half the day off on Friday then head to Parris Island for the weekend. He had just got approved for the visit; SHIELD was not taking any chances with Rogue. In addition, he would have to undergo a quick DNA test before being allowed to see her.   
David wanted to meet Sarah and Michael, as well as deliver an apology to Rogue. Odd to think I’m forty-three and forty-eight years older than my siblings. I’m old enough to be their grandfather, he thought. He reminded himself that there was a bounty on their heads. More pressure on Dad and Rogue. Just what the two of them did NOT need. The two of them certainly don’t need grief from me. For a moment, he considered, that perhaps the article regarding his family history was not the wisest move to make for them. Sure, it kept the CIA from blackmailing him, but there might be backlash toward Frank, as well as his own children—Eleanor and Kevin.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside to be assailed by the smells of food. Bless Karen’s heart. I should make sure to thank her. She’s been good to and for me. It’s so nice not to come home to an empty house.  
David met Karen cooking feverishly in the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner, Karen.” He smiled at her as she stirred the sliced chicken in the pan, making sure it was well prepared. She poured teriyaki sauce over the chicken and moved to get the rice and broccoli side dishes ready to be served.

She returned his smile absently. “You work so hard, David.” 

He loved the way the light caught at her gold hair. “Well, I appreciate a home cooked dinner. Work was difficult today.” He took off his jacket and tie, draping them over a chair. David kept his holster on; he felt naked without some sort of protection. He’d put his clothes away later.

Karen wanted to ask him why he had a hard day at work, but one of the very few terms of their burgeoning relationship was for her not to make inquiries. She understood his reasoning; she was a reporter and being in his position, he could not afford leaks and wanted to keep her away from the temptation of a juicy story. She didn’t like it, but she understood why his lips were sealed. “I’m sorry that you had a hard day.” Was all that she could say. She portioned out the food on plates and handed him one.

They sat at the dining room table, eating in silence for a few moments.

“You should be very careful, Karen. I think certain intelligence agencies might try to delve into your past. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but you need to know for your safety.” David said, as he finished up his plate. “Anything else I need to know your past?”

Karen shook her head. “You know all the bad stuff I’ve done. I was a soft-core porn actress for three months, I’m a recovering alcohol and heroin addict. That’s it.” She added, “You don’t think I’m in danger?”

“No. Just be on the lookout for anyone suspicious. Stay in public spaces if you pick up weird vibes.” He knew Karen had honed survival instincts. She had a .9 mm Beretta in her purse—and possessed the concealed carry permit for it. They went out to a gun range together and kept up their marksmanship. “But above all, do not act out of the ordinary. I know it’ll be hard but go about your normal activities.”  
Karen sighed and put aside her empty plate. “I don’t suppose I could come with you this weekend.”

David said, gently but assertive. “No. This visit has been approved for immediate family, only. Director Fury is keeping security around Lori and the children very tight. Maybe someday, I’ll take you to meet them. Lori’s a very independent and strong woman, she’s good for Dad. Gives him a connection to humanity. I think you’d like her.”

“I’d like to meet your father, too.” Karen said, a curious gleam to her cornflower blue eyes. So much had been written about Frank Castle, it was hard to determine where the myth and man began. To see the legendary vigilante in person—that would be fascinating. “What’s he like?”

David mused whether to tell her about his impressions—personal or clinical—of his father. “Intense. He seems to always gauge a person, he’s got a razor-sharp sense of perception. He doesn’t meet the current guidelines for having an antisocial personality disorder. He has absolute impulse control and lacks that kind of ego. He does not prey or manipulate the weak, like those with the antisocial personality disorder do. He is exceptionally patient. He’s not quantifiable by psychiatric terms.” David knew his fellow agents in Behavioral Science back in Quantico would LOVE to have just thirty minutes with the Punisher. 

“You love him, don’t you?” Karen told him.

David thought for a moment. “I know I love the father whom I barely remember. One of my only memories that I can recall is him teaching me to fly a kite. I look back to that day and loving him so much.” What he didn’t go on to say was that he also remembered blood and golden hair spilled on the ground.

He continued, “I think I still do, even though he’s what you might call a difficult person. But I’m a painful reminder of his failure in Central Park. And…there was THAT incident. He didn’t care for me calling Lori that bad name, but was also disappointed in my severe deficit in judgement by getting sloppy drunk.” David hoped they could come to some resolution one day, but it wouldn’t be for some time. Not with Frank out fighting the enemy and doing his duty.

He pushed up the sleeves on his shirt then scrubbed the pots and dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Karen busied herself by wiping down the counter tops. David processed what she said: I’d like to meet your father. How serious of a relationship did she want? Hell, how serious did he really want to get? What about marriage? What if she wants kids? (You need this, his mind told him. Karen’s good. She cares about you.) David found that he did not want to dump her. He cherished her companionship and her, but had so many conflicting thoughts.

David took her by the hand when they were done with tiding up and led her into the living room. He let go of her hand, tossed in a Sade CD and dimmed the lights. He surprised her by asking if she wanted to slow   
dance. She accepted.

They moved together slowly, pressed up against each other. “We need to talk, Karen, about where we’re going and potential consequences. I do love you, that I know.”

Karen held onto him tighter. His vulnerability and pain crept into her bones. “I love you, David. I’d like to get more serious, but I only want to go as far as you want. I’d like to be a part of your family someday—when you’re ready. And I won’t lie, I want a child. I have no one, no family, except Foggy.”

“My family is haunted by violence, Karen. Look at what happened to my father, to me. We’ve had children killed and stolen from us. I could lose Eleanor and Kevin at any moment. I’m also forty-eight years old, in a high stress job, and I’m not home as often as I’d like. How could I be a good husband and father?” His words came out bitter like black coffee. 

The low light emphasized the pain in his eyes, the torment of such a horrible past. “You would do your best, David.”

They continued to slowly dance in the dim light. It gave David comfort to be close to her. “My ex said I was not meeting her physical needs, when I asked her why she cheated on me. Worked too long, no time for her. Spent more time with the kids than her, she complained. Kevin was moody and sullen, something bothered him. I spent a lot of time trying to discern what was wrong, but he never told me.”

“Fuck that shit.” Karen blurted. She craned her neck to look up at him, her golden hair rippled down her back. “I hope you didn’t take any of that nonsense to heart.”

“Law enforcement takes its toll on marriages. There’s a reason divorce is high in this career. But no. I didn’t take it to heart. A few months into the proceedings, she changed her mind and wanted it to work. I said no. I couldn’t trust her. Then she went and married the guy she cheated on me with.” David sounded cynical. David hated that the man who participated in adultery with his ex-wife was around HIS children daily, while he was banished to a studio apartment in New York City. 

Karen said, “That’s good. I don’t think the adage once a cheater always a cheater is true for everyone, but in her case, it probably was.”

The song ended and Sweetest Taboo came on. He kissed Karen’s head. “I’m also a bad Catholic. My religion requires that we forgive those who sin against us, but I cannot forgive the men who killed my children. I have zero regret killing those assholes, Karen, and would do it again.” David told her, his voice taut and strained. “It gets easier to pull the trigger, to put evil doers down every time I’m in that situation. I think I have a portion of the same capacity for violence that my father possesses—and THAT scares me.” For a moment, the hard edges of the father came through on the face of the son. Fierce, intelligent and determined. Karen saw a picture of Frank once and David looked exactly like him in this instant.

There was nothing that Karen could really say. Platitudes seemed so empty and useless. She chose to focus on what she could say. “They deserved it, David. If you hadn’t shot back, they would’ve killed all of you.”

David shrugged. “The Castle history is drenched in blood and sorrow and pain. I don’t blame you if you decide to leave. It’d certainly be better for you.” He swirled her around, darkness hiding most of his features except the line of his cheekbone.

“I’ll decide what’s best for me, thank you very much Mr. FBI Director.” Karen replied pertly. “You’re not the only one whose had it rough. Okay, maybe you’ve had it rougher than most people, but you’re not alone in having shitty things happen. “Guilt over her dead brother had driven her to try and erase her pain with drugs and alcohol; those substances had just made her life worse. She still did not want to remember the occurrence that had taken his life. “Stop moping, David. Wallowing in self-doubt and fear will only hurt you. It’s normal and understandable to grieve for your children, but don’t let it take it you over. Try to remember the good times and try to be grateful for having them in your life.”

“Ouch. Tough love.” He kissed her forehead. Karen was correct. Concentrate on the positive, work on the negative, and attempt to find a solution that would bring personal peace.

She smiled. “Sometimes we all need someone to kick our ass into line.”

David felt weary and wanted to rest. “How about we go to sleep? I’ll have a long day tomorrow and I’m sure you will too.” The dancing stopped as he gathered his jacket and tie, while she turned off the stereo.


	8. Castles of Stone and Glass

The bombers dropped their payloads as expected, bright cherry explosions lit up the darkening Texas sky. Buildings and homes were destroyed, vegetation gone as well. Their engines roared like avenging banshees as they descended just low enough to deliver their gifts but not low enough to be effectively shot at. The dark bodies disappeared into the horizon, leaving smoky trails in their wake.

Screams of pain ascended to the ledge Marines crouched in anticipation, rifles at the ready and determination in their steely hearts.

“Kill everyone that comes out.” Ordered Frank Castle, his own weapon primed to take out the enemy. For one moment he contemplated how this war was different from ‘Nam. One was a war that turned out to be a major clusterfuck and this war was about survival—survival both of culture and of human life. American life was far from perfect, but this flawed society was better than whatever HYDRA had in store. He had to wonder how this war would shape the Marines under his command. He was curious how this conflict would mold Eleanor. 

Frank thought that they needed to adopt more guerilla tactics, slash and hack at the enemy then pull back. Particularly if HYDRA and China would continue to flirt with them along the American border. He wanted to make the enemy paranoid and to second guess themselves. He wanted a slow bleed of the enemy rather than massive destruction. Mostly to preserve the strength of his own men for when it would do the most good. He envisioned a massive offensive, eventually, wherever it might be.   
His attention was drawn to the rapid movement of soldiers rushing out of the town. Some were on fire, most weren’t—but terror left its written words on their faces. Good, he thought to himself as he assured himself that his M-60, otherwise known as ‘The Pig’, was at the ready. Frank, old fashioned as he was, preferred to use it over the more modern rifles. 

Frank was pleased that his Marines maintained discipline until he unleashed that one word they wanted to hear: “Fire!”

Loud pops filled the air and bright bursts emerged from rifles. Frank gave the enemy a taste of his mercy; they would starve from it. Chaos reigned around them, as the enemy below managed to return fire. A futile effort, though the enemy got in a lucky shot or two. The man next to Frank took a bullet to the arm; the young Marine kept on firing despite being told to go for medical care.

Frank fed another belt into his hungry weapon. He relished the sounds of war; he even thrived on it and was eager to dish out more punishment. Rage surged through him, he controlled and used it to focus his attention on the matter at hand. These assholes deserve every single round.

“Fuck that shit. I can still shoot. I’ll go after this is over.” The Private snarled and brushed away an offer of help. It was nothing major, just a grazing gunshot. Blood seeped through his sleeve, but he ignored it. He had a job to do, people to protect and a minor wound would not keep him from his duty. He continued to fight against those he was ordered to.

Frank took note of the young man’s name: Webber. He decided to write a commendation for the young man after the battle was won. He unloaded the M-60 with all the fury the rifle possessed. It was loud, singing a song of certain death, but turned the enemy into piles of red meat.

There was a whizzing sound and a muffled word of pain reached Frank. Crouching still further, he turned his head to see that Webber had taken a bullet to the throat. This time, the corpsmen pulled him back to work on the young man. Frank didn’t think the young Marine would pull through, but one never knew. He turned back to the task before him. The assault seemed to take forever but, paradoxically, only a few tense moments. It was if the world stilled, halted by some unseen force.

Frank felt, as much as he heard, General Hicks coming up behind him. He stopped firing to acknowledge the General and listen to what the old man had to say.

The older man huffed his way toward Frank. Hicks was in good shape for being old, but the years were catching up to him. Hicks knew his time in his beloved Marine Corps was numbered by months, if not weeks. “Good job, Marine. But our scouts have detected another battalion of enemy troops and they’re heading this way. I’ll send in a cleanup crew for them.” Hicks pointed down at the vanquished foes. “You and your men head to the northeast, pronto. Load up on ammo and take what medics you can. I’ll help coordinate by communicating on the radio. Keep your walkie-talkie on. Get a move on, Castle.” With that, Hicks was gone. 

Frank brought his company together, other captains were doing the same, and related the information to them. They were weary, especially the Marines that went on the rescue mission earlier that day, but kept their thoughts to themselves. 

“Grab your packs, ammo, and let’s go do our job.” Frank watched them rush and gather their gear, refill their ammo supplies and organize themselves for a speedy engagement. He observed Eleanor, almost always having her stuff prepared—Frank liked that about her, along with her steady temperament—as she assisted a fellow Marine. Marines were about teamwork and a sense of brotherhood.

“Move out!” Frank yelled.

# # #

David knocked on the door, he anticipated meeting his half-siblings. He liked children, always had a deep sense of wanting to protect them from evil. Perhaps that resulted from his own childhood, from half-repressed memories that came out in his dreams. Or nightmares.

Rogue answered the door with a tired smile. She appeared exhausted, almost dead on her feet, and she wore a tank top and shorts. Simple clothes able to be tossed on at a moment’s notice. “Ah, David. It’s nice to see ya, come on in.” She noticed him looking at her. “Michael’s had colic for the past two days; Ah’ve not had much sleep.”  
The house was well kept, despite having a five-year-old running wild and free. There was a collection of tiny ponies that were being utilized by the child, but no other signs of clutter. A bassinet was by the couch, within easy reach of any occupant. 

“Sarah, come say hi to our company. He’s been wantin’ to meet you so be nice.” Rogue said.

Reluctantly, the girl got up from her play and wandered over. “I’m always nice, mama.” She had an impish grin on her face. To David, she stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Sarah. Who the hell are you?”

David stifled a laugh and took her hand. He crouched so he was on eye level with her. “I’m David and I’m related to your dad. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”  
“Sarah, where did you learn that word? Ah don’t want you to say it again. It’s not polite.” Rogue, too, was amused, but the adult in her didn’t want Sarah to know such language. She suspected she knew who Sarah learned it from and was going to have a word with the one-eyed culprit. 

“Uncle Nick. I heard him say that and thought it was neat.” Sarah replied innocently. She kept staring at David, then gave him a hug. He did look like Frank, gave off the same sense of total safety, so he was ok in her book. “Wanna watch me play, David? I got some cool ponies.” 

“Sure.” Sarah invited him into her world, so David wanted to take the opportunity. “If it’s ok with your mom.”

Rogue waved her assent, then ambled toward the kitchen. She stopped to offer him a bite to eat. “Ah gotta make some lunch. Ah’m hungry and thought you might be too. Do chipotle turkey wraps sound good? Or Ah can make just about anything you want.”

“Turkey wraps sound delicious. Thank you.” David turned his attention toward the small girl who was engaged in imagination land. He hitched up his dress slacks and sat next to her. 

Sarah’s hair was a bright Irish flame that he thought would turn a burnished auburn when she became an adult. Her eyes were a deep gray. He did not see much of the Castle genes in her, maybe in the nose and cheekbones, but perhaps that was a good thing. Her personality was bubbly, and it was obvious that she felt secure and loved.

“This pony,” she exclaimed boldly, “is named Stomper. He protects the other ponies from baddies.” She proceeded to show David just how Stomper got his name. Stomp, stomp, stomp over her Barbie dolls. “They wanted to make the ponies pets, but Stomper doesn’t like it.”

He pointed to the other ponies. “Who are these?”

“That white one with the horn is Queenie. The pink one is Princess Butterfly—she heals people. Even bad guys.” Sarah demonstrated by having Princess Butterfly touch each of the stomped dolls with her plastic nose. “See? Now they can all be friends. Except Stomper. He doesn’t like or trust the people yet.”

It was obvious to anyone with half a brain who Stomper represented. Sarah was reenacting her personal trauma through play. And the fact that she wanted the bad people to heal and for everyone to be friends spoke to her capacity for caring about others. Sarah will be fine, he thought, given the proper therapy, which I’m sure she is getting. Rogue’s a proactive parent. Rogue and Frank should watch out for signs of anxiety when she hits the teenage years, but Sarah had the potential to be a normal person. For a moment, he thought of Trent—who was probably born with the antisocial personality defect—and felt his soul creep toward sadness.

A plastic nose booped him on his. It was enough to bring him back to the present. “What made you do that, Sarah?” His tone was kind and gentle.

“You seemed sad. I wanted to make you feel better.” Her eyes were full of concern.

He smiled with genuine warmth at his half-sister, slightly amazed at how she picked up on his troubles. She was five and able to perceive how others felt—and had the desire to ‘fix’ sadness. He hoped Rogue would encourage this behavior; the world needed kind people. “It worked. I’m much better. Tell Princess Butterfly I appreciate it.”

Rogue watched the incident from the kitchen door. She held a tray of turkey wraps and two glasses of sweet tea. “It’s time for you and your ponies to take a nap. They sure look all tuckered out.” She wanted to have a serious discussion with David and Sarah needed some more sleep. And, to be honest, Rogue needed a breather from the pressure of two kids. She loved them fiercely, but after the fuss Michael raised, just an hour or two of relative calm was all Rogue asked for. 

Sarah said, “Awww mama. Can’t I stay up?”

“No. David and Ah need to have a talk and you need a nap. Ah promise you’ll be able to spend more time with us, but for now, off to bed you go.” Rogue firmly told her adopted daughter. She put the tray on the coffee table then escorted Sarah off to her room, toys in tow.

A few minutes later, Rogue came into the living room and plunked down on the sofa. Michael was still asleep, thank goodness, and the worst of the colic seemed to be over. She visibly relaxed. “Ah won’t lie; this life is a bit challenging. Ah hold down a job, clean house and run after the kids. Ah wouldn’t change a thing except to have Frank around more. He’s got his duty, though, and Ah have mine.”

Rogue and David had lunch in silence, both of them aware of the heavy burden of duty on their shoulders. David was shocked by how sweet the tea happened to be. It tasted good, but he was not prepared for the rush of sugar in his veins. He preferred the spiciness of the wrap and he finished that with aplomb.

“Sorry for the sweet tea. Ah was cravin’ a bit of home. We Southerners love it. Ah can get ya somethin’ else.” She made as if to rise, but he told her she didn’t have to bother.

“Just relax, Lorelai. You don’t have to wait on me. I’m family, not a guest.” David assured her. 

Rogue sank back into the furniture and debated how she was going to ask this tough question. She opted to be direct about it. “Ah read that article—the one you wrote with your girlfriend. Why did you come out as Frank’s son? Not angry, just concerned you might’ve put a big target on your back. Eleanor’s and Kevin’s backs too, for that matter.” 

David sighed, choosing to unwind as well. “There are two reasons. The major reason was to prevent the CIA to use it as blackmail. It succeeded. The other reason is more personal. A hunter found the bones of Maria and Lisa in the woods—his dog dug them up. The remains are currently residing in the Punisher room at the FBI headquarters. I plan on claiming them and laying them to their final rest, but I want Dad’s input.”

Rogue nodded—she accepted those reasons. It made sense to her. “Sometimes a scorched earth policy is the best option. Ah’ll let Frank know when we are able to communicate again. Right now, he’s in the middle of a conflict and, well, comms are down.” Worry came through in her tone and David saw her shoulders begin to tense up again.

“He’ll make it, Rogue. He’s tough and has been in enough battles to know what to do. Marines are known to adapt, improvise and overcome.” David spoke the words even though war was unpredictable. He just knew Rogue needed some comfort, some kind gesture on the part of an actual adult. He patted her shoulder and she just sighed.

“Enough of mah troubles. How are you and Karen doing? How’s your sobriety?” Rogue pulled herself together, grateful for the sliver of understanding. She had to be strong for the children and could not afford too many moments of doubt and worry. But moments like this, she could release some of that internal pressure.

“Eight, almost nine months sober. Karen and I,” he stopped to pull a small box from his jacket and opened it to reveal a beautiful ring, “are doing great. She’s the best thing to happen to me and I’m ready to commit.”

Rogue perked up and examined David, rather than the ring. Her eyes peered right through him, to ascertain his motives. “Are you sure about this, David? If something goes wrong, it could damage your sobriety. Is she pressuring you?” Yeah, Rogue was worried. Worried that he rushed into a relationship to fill an emotional hole in him. Her step father had been an alcoholic and, in retrospect, she knew that Leroy was attempting to medicate himself.

“She doesn’t even know. How long did you court my father before he proposed?” David raised an eyebrow. He glanced toward a picture of them on their wedding day. Frank was in dress blues and Rogue donned a simple white dress. They made a lovely couple. Nick hovered in the background, wiping what must be a speck of dust from his good eye.

Rogue shot him an exasperated expression. “That is neither here nor there, o argumentative step son of mine. We were in a different situation than you two are. Ah just don’t want her to hurt you enough to start drinkin’ again. You’re a good man and Ah care about you. You shouldn’t get married to repair a flaw in yourself. You should get married when you’re in love and able to make it work.”

“You’re twenty-three years old. How did you come by all this wisdom?” David asked, sarcastically.

Rogue paused and took his question with a heavy dose of seriousness. “Through a life hard lived, David. Ah feel older than Ah am. Remember, Ah watched mah mother commit suicide by cop. Ah lived in foster homes til Ah was twelve then lived on the street. Ah’ve touched people and absorbed their experiences.” She hesitated, and her accent thickened—a sure sign that she was remembering events she’d prefer to leave in the past. “Mah mother was only twenty-four when she died. Ah still think she abandoned me and now that Ah’m a mom, Ah’ll never forgive her for it. Ah’d never put a kid through that kind of pain.”

“Shit. How old was she when she gave birth to you?” David’s brow creased in thought.

“Sixteen.” Came the terse reply. “And Ah’d rather not talk anymore about her. Unless Ah bring it up.”

David could not blame her. “I understand. I’ll also take your concerns regarding Karen under consideration.” Rogue, he determined, was very protective of her family. Even him.

Rogue softened, just a bit. “Give me her number and let me talk to her. Ah’ll get a feel for her and her intentions. She’s a reporter, after all, and might just be looking for a good scoop from you.” 

He pulled out a scrap of paper, a receipt of some sort, and wrote down Karen’s number. “I don’t bring or talk about work with her. That’s my only ‘rule’ and I won’t violate it. Just give her a chance; I think you’d like her.”

“Ah’ll be the judge of that,” She said, with a touch of sass before changing the subject. “Three hours ago, Ah was made aware of a post on a Punisher board. Nick’s overseas on a mission right now, so Ah can’t ask him to assess the situation.” She pulled a laptop from under the coffee table, and clicked the maximize button to bring up the website in question.

David saw that someone had posted a picture of Frank, Rogue and the kids in the backyard. Frank held Michael in his arms and Rogue kissed Sarah on her head. The quote under it said: 

punisherfreek788: He should lose this family, so he can go back to punishing. Lol. 

There was also a gun emoji followed by three dead faced symbols.

David, appalled, turned to Rogue and told her bluntly. “I don’t like this. At all. If it were just the stupidly insensitive comment, I’d say it was a kid and to ignore it. The photo is what bothers me.”

He continued to read and was heartened to see that others crucified the user for the comment. 

Geekrises1854: Dude, you are so out of line. He’s given more—and continues to give since he rejoined the Corps—to keep people safe than you could dream of giving. Let him have happiness. He deserves it. Take the photo off, it’s disrespectful and intrusive.

“I’m going to do what I can to get rid of the picture. It’ll be almost impossible, but I think I can make a dent in its distribution. After I make some phone calls to my people, I’ll call and leave a message for Nick. He’ll need to know this as soon as possible. Then we’ll make plans to move you; it’s not safe for you here. With your permission, I’ll stay here until arrangements are finalized.” 

Rogue agreed with his assessment. “If you need privacy to make calls, you can use the master bedroom.” She knew that he would probably have to disclose information to verify his status as the FBI director and might not be comfortable doing so in her presence. David, to his credit, went upstairs immediately. He took the photo as a credible threat and acted accordingly. 

Michael began to cry, and Rogue picked him up. She headed for the kitchen to prepare some formula. “Ah’ll get you some food, sweetie. Ah promise nothing will happen to you.”


	9. Hey Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childhood sexual abuse alluded to but not described. Feelings and thoughts revealed. If you are sensitive to that, please do not read. Thank you.

The goal of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his. —General George S. Patton

“Follow me or get the hell out of my way.” Frank yelled, as he paraphrased the quote of one General Patton. Patton had crazy notions, but was undoubtedly a brilliant soldier. A general worth studying, and Frank had, when he first became an officer. Demanding, divisive and eccentric—Patton had good advice. Some of which Frank had incorporated in his own leadership. A good soldier, Frank maintained to the men under him, sharpened his mind with books and knowledge.

The fighting was intense, brutal and bloody. Frank found himself leading the vanguard, with the other Captains and Majors respecting his experience by letting him take the point of attack. They let him lead. He made an intimidating figure as his ‘Pig’ cut swathes through the Chinese horde.

Bullets hit their targets and bodies crumpled, Marine and Chinese alike. Dust rose up from underneath combat boots to sting eyes and mingle with sweat. Curses of pain and death rattles, wet and gurgling noises, went unnoticed by Frank. 

When his weapon ran out of ammunition, he picked up the rifle of a fallen soldier and continued to wage war. Bloody and horrific moments like these were when he felt the most at peace. Keep the innocent safe. Keep my family safe. Those goals spurred him on even as he was tackled by two Chinese adversaries.

The three of them hit the dirt with a jarring impact, limbs entangled, blows exchanged

He bit at one man’s face, blood spurted over his own. During the frantic struggle, Frank used a free hand to liberate his Ka-Bar. The blade found a new home in the other enemy’s side. Frank twisted it to cause more damage and felt his knife scrape against the ribcage. That purchased him enough time to scramble to his feet. He stomped on their necks, hard enough to crush windpipes and neckbones.

Frank retrieved his newly acquired weapon, a QBZ-95, from the ground and continued the attack, blood spattered his face and uniform. Deadly blue eyes contrasted sharply against crimson and men trembled before him, convinced they had just ran into a demon.

After the fighting, the Punisher company trudged back to their camp. The company had lost thirty Marines. Frank would send out letters of condolence to accompany the flags sent to mourning families. A rough estimate of five hundred Marines fell, Frank reckoned, but they defeated the enemy. The Marine Corps did their duty but paid for it in blood, sweat and loss. Frank brought his people together and told them they could go back to the encampment. 

Body recovery would be done by others, groups composed mostly of Corpsmen and the National Guard. EMT personnel and firefighters from nearby towns were pulled in to assist. Autopsies were scheduled be performed at the nearest National Guard armory and it was probable that civilian coroners would be called in to conduct those solemn examinations. After the grim procedures were over with, the bodies were due to be shipped out for proper burial. 

Eleanor, weary to her DNA strands, kept pace but desperately wanted to rest. She wondered who was going to pull firewatch tonight and she decided to volunteer if no one else was willing. It was unspoken, but Eleanor sensed that she needed to prove her mettle and earn respect among her fellow Marines. She also knew there probably weren’t a lot of women with her strength and capability; she was an anomaly. Combat was physically and mentally difficult and not for the sensitive and faint of heart. The blood and death weighed on her and invited dark thoughts of revenge. It gave her more fuel to use

“Hey, are you ok?” One of her fellow company Marines asked. His nametag said Jacobs. He seemed concerned as he walked alongside her.

“Just a little tired, I guess.” She grudgingly admitted. She noticed they were getting close to their encampment. Close to food, probably MREs, and shelter. “Gotta prove my worth, you know? I don’t want to be seen as a walking mattress.” Eleanor cringed at the term. She knew walking mattress was derogatory slang for a female military member sleeping her way up the ladder.

Jacobs snorted. “You’re not seen like that, I can assure you. You’re doing a good job, but maybe you’re trying too hard.”

“What do you mean?” The question came out edged and tense, harsher than she meant it to be but Eleanor apologized for it.

“No worries, Castiglioni. It’s been a long day—no, make that a hard day.” Jacobs paused. “You’re putting a lot of energy to prove that you’re a worthy Marine. You are worthy, or you wouldn’t be here. Everyone knows about your ordeal at Camp Lejeune. What I’m trying to say is always do your best, but relax when you can. I don’t want to see you burn out. Just keep doing your job well.” 

Eleanor saw his reasoning. “I feel as if I’m representing my gender in battle. There’s not many women that have been cleared for going out to the battlefronts. Most women can’t meet the physical requirements. I don’t want to make future female Marines look bad by the precedent I set.” 

Jacobs appraised her. So earnest, so damned determined. She still had that new “boot” smell, the enthusiasm and pride radiated off her. “Other women will or will not make themselves fit for combat. You need to worry about your performance and perhaps where you’ll go in the Corps.”

Eleanor mused about where she wanted to end up in the Marine Corps. She loved the sense of brotherhood that permeated every aspect of life in the service, but she also felt drawn to punishing evil doers. That time for her grandfather was—hopefully—over. Someone needed to get the criminals that slipped through the cracks. Lord, let nothing happen to his new family. Please. He deserves some happiness— but I could take on his burden. She wanted to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps, but in the meantime, she needed to take in all the knowledge about warfare tactics that she could. He did not like bullies. Neither did she. “I’d like to go into Recon, but that path hasn’t been opened to women yet.”

“Do some more time, build a good reputation, and request a transfer from the chain of command. It won’t hurt to ask and the Marine Corps is changing. Three years ago, you wouldn’t be here.” Jacobs said with the wisdom of a seasoned veteran. He wondered if she had a boyfriend, a thought that came out of the blue. Eleanor had more height than he did, and her build was solid. He suspected she was pure muscle underneath her uniform.  
They entered the impromptu camp. Men were housed in roughly built barracks. Eleanor had a one-person tent. Showers were available on a limited basis; she was scheduled first then followed by her male counterparts. She had her own ‘outhouse’. 

Both Corporal Jacobs and Eleanor were intercepted by their commanding officer. Frank looked them over—it seemed like he had seen better days himself. Blood and dirt combined to make a reddish-brown mess on his face. “Corporal Jacobs, you’re on firewatch tonight, so get some food, take a shower and go about your duties. PFC Castiglioni, you’ve been given the night off due to the mission earlier this morning. You have mail; Staff Sergeant Ortiz has it. Hit the showers before the men do.” With that, and ever to the point, he was off to take care of his own.

“Well, I’ve got my marching orders. See you around, Castiglioni.” Jacobs smiled at her before he went to prepare for what he was told to do.

She went to her tent to pick up a fresh uniform before she jumped into a lukewarm shower. Eleanor kept it short then dressed in her gear. Eleanor felt much better as she drug herself over to retrieve her mail. Ortiz handed her two letters and she didn’t bother to notice who sent them. She decided to read them in her tent after she ate.

A sober mood inhabited the mess hall and she tried not to notice the absences. A black hole of melancholy where there was laughter and rowdy jokes. Most of the Marines just consumed their food in silence, some just pushed food on their trays. Some glanced to where their friends would have sat next to them. 

Out of a desperate need to distract herself, Eleanor glanced at her letters. One was from her father. The second had her brother’s name on it. She resisted the temptation to burn it up. What does Kevin want? To apologize and beg for forgiveness? Or is it a sick and twisted love letter? She remembered the good times they had, how close they had been growing up, in constant competition with each other. Who am I kidding? I still love Kevin as my brother. Mad as hell at him, but he needs help. Serious help. I’ll read the letter and decide what to do from there. 

She finished her meal; Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and green peas. No MRE’s tonight. She bused her own tray and then walked back to her tent. Thirty sets of boots with helmets and rifles were set up in the main part of the camp. This is reality. This is hard. People DIE. Her mind flashed back to all those bodies in the dirt, coagulated blood pooled around them. The screams of the anguished living echoed in her bones.   
Her small tent was located next to Major Castle’s larger one, so she was afforded a chance to watch General Hicks enter. Hicks glanced at her, frozen in honest assessment. She stiffened and gave him a salute. He nodded at her, as if to say carry on, then slipped inside.

She entered her own tent and pulled off her boots once she gingerly plunked down on her cot. Eleanor wiggled her toes with sheer relief and ripped open her father’s letter. She relished every word of it, love and concern pouring through the slim and fragile paper. Communications were down and the only way to contact her father was through the snail mail.   
I’d write now, but I’m so fucking tired. I need to let him know I’m fine. She made a mental note to write him in the morning, time permitting. I miss you, Dad. She tucked the letter back in the envelope and placed it on an empty wood box that served admirably as an impromptu nightstand.

She examined the other envelop. It had a heft to the envelope; it seemed to be weighed by an anchor. Eleanor touched the bold scribbling of her brother. Easy to read but there was an uncertain shake to his handwriting, as if he wrote this in a highly emotional state. I’m not sure I can handle this shit right now. 

Her hands opened it with a slow deliberateness to reveal a substantial message. 

 

Eleanor,

I know what I said wasn’t right and I opted, for my own well-being to seek help. My chaplain, who is a therapist along with being a Catholic priest, told me that I should tell someone in my family. I can’t talk to Dad. He’s got enough shit on his plate and I don’t want to burden him with this. It would only bring him more pain and perhaps cause a relapse. I couldn’t live with that. So that leaves you.

From the age of twelve to fifteen, I was sexually abused. It makes me physically ill to think about, let alone admit it to some cold and anonymous slip of paper. I fear that you’ll toss it in the trash, instead of reading it. If you do throw this away, I understand. I deserve not being heard for what I’ve said to you. The act of committing my personal thoughts in writing hammers home the reality of what happened to me. The thought of engaging in a relationship revolts and frightens me. Me. A six-foot two Navy SEAL. Afraid of having real feelings and connecting to someone, afraid of using someone like I was used. You are the only one I feel safe with, other than Father and Grandfather.

I can’t help wondering how I could have stopped this from happening to me. I keep playing the memories over and over in my head. Maybe I should have been more aggressive in stopping it? Maybe it’s my fault, maybe I started it. Maybe I should have talked to Dad when he clearly saw I was troubled. But, Eleanor, I was told I would break up the family if I ever confessed so I remained quiet.

Eleanor noted, with burgeoning tears which clouded her vision, that he was deliberately not naming the individual responsible for abusing him. She brushed them aside. She believed him; Kevin had never lied to her. As she read his words, pain emanated from every letter. She touched where he had pushed the pen deep into the paper, hard enough to leave a visible indent.

“Wait, what?” She spoke out loud and questioned what she just read. Break up the family? Eleanor’s stomach roiled, and she thrust the letter aside to grab her canteen. The papers fluttered to the ground like her heart. She searched for a distraction and gulped down water, but it was only temporary. Eleanor had to finish reading the most painful missive she had received. 

She leaned over the edge of her cot and scooped up the letter.

Mom did this to me. She started off with saying, “With your father out of the house so much, it’s time for you to step up. You’re a big boy now.”

That was true. Mother had said that within her hearing, Eleanor thought to herself. She continued to read.

I’ll spare you the graphic details. Those you don’t need to know, and I lack the strength to talk about the specifics with anybody other than my counselor. Eleanor, the thought of her possibly moving on to Cameron or Trent—haunts me. Keeps me up at night. The guilt and shame have been eating at me for so long, I doubt if any amount of counseling will ever make me feel whole again. I just want a chance to become the man I should be.  
Please forgive me. 

Your Brother, 

Kevin

She grabbed a blank envelope, a scrap of paper, and a pen. She needed to send out an immediate response. She kept her message brief: 

I believe you. I support you. I forgive you. Thank you for trusting me. Keep working on yourself and in the meantime, I will make sure I find a way to discuss this in person with you. 

Always Your Sister,

Eleanor

She settled her mail on her night stand and laid down. Eleanor did not even have time to worry about falling asleep before exhaustion gripped her and pulled her down into a dreamless repose.

# # #

Frank shifted in his chair as he began to sign condolence letters to be given to the newly minted Gold star families, along with folded flags. This was solemn business and, as with his other tasks, handled it with strict professionalism. He had been hardened to losses by his previous service, but spared a thought or two for the spouses and children left behind. They were victims of war and would be treated with respect by the military personnel chosen to deliver the news.

He heard General Hicks announce his presence and Frank gave his permission to enter. He put the pen aside.

“Damn. I didn’t know you had an Amazon in your midst.” Hicks drawled and leaned against the tent pole, albeit lightly. A newspaper was rolled up neatly under his arm.

“That would be Private First Class Eleanor Castiglioni—a good Marine.” Frank said and questioned himself why General Hicks was here. To talk tactics? To rag on the lone female Marine in his company?  
General Hicks smiled like a crocodile. “Her father is the FBI Director? And your granddaughter?” He tossed the newspaper toward Frank and his eyes read the headline: FBI DIRECTOR IS THE LONG ASSUMED DEAD SON OF THE PUNISHER. “Thought you’d like to know. Is it true or is Francis David Castiglioni Jr pulling shit out of his ass? I’ve got to say that he certainly bears a family resemblance.”

Frank burrowed his brow in deep contemplation. Frank’s first impulse was to be angry, not so much for his sake, but for Eleanor and Kevin’s safety. But David had a high rank in the intelligence community where shit was often brought to the light. Secrets often did not stay secrets for long, at least among those members. Frank came to the working hypothesis that David was forced to admit his true familial history. Control the story, control the damage. “It’s true. He’s my son.”

“He told a helluva story, Frank. I’m sorry that he was stolen from you.” Hicks’ gruff voice softened in an emotion akin to sympathy.

“Maybe he was safer that way.” Frank admitted, before he changed the conversation. “What else did you want to talk about?”

Hicks got the point. Frank clearly did not want to continue this discussion. Hicks respected that. “We’ve got five hundred and fifteen Marines dead. Three hundred wounded, some are not expected to make it tonight. Others? I’m not sure they’ll be fit for combat again.”

“How many recruits are due to graduate?” Frank asked. The casualties were heavy and would make an impact on their fighting force.

“About three thousand, even with the eleven to fourteen percent attrition rate. And, more good news, enlistment has gone up among both men and women. It does this Marine’s old heart good to watch youngsters step up to defend the country.” Hicks sighed. “The generals have authorized us to open two more boot camps to accommodate more recruits. We hope to build up the Marine Corps to roughly three hundred thousand.” The current limit for active duty Marines was one hundred and eighty thousand.

Frank stayed quiet and guarded his opinions. At least this is a just war and not one we caused.

“Are we going to stay put or relocate? Frank asked, his gravelly voice was as cold as the grave. Sleep called to him, but he had responsibilities and people to check on before he could rest.

“Stay, for the time being. Be prepared for a bug out. Oh, and comms will be on again tomorrow, so let your people call home.” Hicks said. A month more, and Hicks would be retired. This ‘honor’ was not his choice, but that of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Unless you have any questions, I’ll be on my way. Semper Fi, Castle.”

Frank shook his head. “Semper Fi, War Horse.” After Hicks left, Frank focused on getting the letters signed. Then he’d make sure his Marines were bunked in for the night.


	10. Deal with the Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mystique is roughed up in prison. Fair warning.

Note from Author: Comments would be very appreciated.

“Move them to DC.” Came Nick Fury’s terse response over the phone. It had taken exactly five minutes for Nick to phone back after David had placed the initial call. “If you don’t know of a good place, put them in the barracks at the SHIELD headquarters.”

“They can stay at my house. I had bullet resistant windows put in. They’ll be safe enough, though I’ll have to ask Rogue if she even wants to.” David said. He had three bedrooms. Sarah could have Trent’s room—his belongings had been put into storage. Rogue and Michael could share the other one. David found it too painful to step into his son’s room and be so acutely aware of Trent’s absence. 

Fury grunted. “Tried to get more information on your son, but no dice. Trent’s been moved again. No intel on his current location. He’s alive, that much I know. Listen, we’ll do a debriefing when I get to DC. At your house. There’s things I want you and Mrs. Sassy Pants to get caught up on before I go before the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I might need your assistance on convincing them to …well, you’ll find out when I get there.” Nick hung up.

David turned off his phone and went downstairs to find Rogue feeding her son. “Nick contacted me. He said I should move you and the kids. You can either go to the barracks at SHIELD HQ, or you can stay at my house until we set you up.”

Rogue thought it about a moment. “Your house. But Ah insist that we take our gun safe. Ah don’t want to leave that behind. Ah’ll also need a few bags of necessities for the children and one for myself.” There was a ‘bug-out’ bag that Frank packed for them. Rogue did not know what was in it; Sarah and Michael kept her too busy to peek inside. But she knew she better take that, too.

“I’ll order a small moving van. I’ll take all of you in my rental car to the airport.” He made a few more calls as Rogue finished feeding Michael, put him in the bassinet for David and went about packing bags. 

They arrived at David’s house five hours later; the van was about three hours behind. David helped Rogue with bags while she wrangled exhausted children. Michael fussed and Sarah pouted, clutching her ponies to her chest. The hour was late, and Rogue wanted to put them down for the night.

Rogue’s focus was completely on Sarah and Michael, so much she did not notice Karen open the door.

“Karen, this is Rogue. Rogue, meet my girlfriend Karen.” David said, an attempt to gently direct Rogue.

“It’s nice to meet ya, Karen.” Rogue smiled, wanly. She had a lot to think about. Her main thought was Nick’s offer—to potentially become strong and bullet resistant would be a boon. She was extremely tempted now, her drive to protect her children was the primary motivation. The one thing holding her back was Frank’s advice; There is always a cost to Nick’s gifts. Frank was paying for Nick’s gift—a gift he had taken only so that she would not find him dead of a heart attack. Rogue knew that if it hadn’t been for her, Frank would have just let himself die. She wondered to herself, “What more could Nick ask of me? What does he truly want?

“Come inside, I stopped by the store and picked up a new bassinet and formula.” Karen watched as they all stumbled inside. All of them seemed drained and the girl was afraid. Sarah pushed herself against Rogue’s leg, a childish search for reassurance. Rogue spared an arm to drape it around Sarah and playfully ruffled that shock of red hair. Karen smiled at the gesture of motherly love. Rogue kept looking at Karen and started to size her up. Her first impression was that Karen was kind and nice, but only time would truly tell.

“Hope ya picked up diapers too. Ah’m runnin’ low and Ah think Mikey here needs a diaper change.” Rogue wrinkled up her nose as a distinctive odor wafted up. She needed to put them both to bed. It was late, past ten, and Sarah was going to be an interesting study in parenting when the morning came around. 

“I did. It’s all set up in the third bedroom.” Karen said, aware of Rogue’s intense gaze. She did not back down and said to herself that Rogue was just being protective of David and the children.

“Ah’ll be back when the kids are asleep. Thank you, David, for opening up your house to us. Ah promise we won’t be here too long.” Rogue and Sarah began shuffling down the hall until they found the bedrooms and disappeared into the third one. 

“She stared a hole right through me.” Karen said, a bit nervous. Karen held up under the appraisal, but Rogue had a fierceness to her like a caged tiger.  
“  
Dad’s worse. Possibly because he’s roughly the size of the Empire State Building. But Rogue’s a softy underneath that stern exterior. She’s been trusted with what Frank considers to be valuable, Karen, and that’s his children. She guards his only weakness. That’s a big responsibility in and of itself. Not to mention her government job. So, it’s understandable she’s wary of who is around them.” David piled up the three bags by the couch in the living room and gracefully sank down into comfort. He was still cramped up from the flight; those seats were not made for tall people. His legs and lower back ached and he allowed himself to spread out.

Karen rummaged in the kitchen for a moment and came to sit beside him with a glass of water and two ibuprofen pills. 

“Thanks. I hate flying commercial. I always have to sit with my knees to my chest.” He joked and accepted the gifts. He popped the pills in his mouth and gulped down the cool water. The ring box pressed against his thigh and he thought about proposing then and there but pulled back. He wanted the moment to be romantic and this was not the appropriate time. 

After a few long moments of comfortable silence, Rogue ambled into the living room. “Sarah and Michael are asleep. We really need to find a permanent home of our own. Ah hate disruptin’ their lives and it ain’t good for them.” Rogue thought she could delve into Frank’s treasure trove of money and buy a house. “Maybe buy a small home. Maybe.” She envisioned building a cabin on Frank’s property in the Poconos and all that peace appealed to her.

“Good luck. Real estate is expensive in DC. My advice? Better to try outside of DC.” David offered as the aches in his body gradually went away.

A firm knock on the door startled all of them from drowsiness. David went to look through the peephole and admitted Nick Fury.

Nick Fury wasted no time in crooking a finger at Karen. “You need to make yourself scarce, Miss Page. Word to the wise: I better not read in the newspaper that I was ever here.” 

Karen twisted her hands awkwardly and asked Rogue if she could tend to Michael. Two of these people were clearly dangerous and were not afraid of violence. David, she knew, was gentle and sweet. He regretted having to use violence to get out of precarious situations. Rogue and Nick Fury? Fighting was their trade.

“Sure. But if you wake him up, you’ll have to help him go back to sleep.” Rogue drawled. Karen had baby fever, Rogue coolly observed; she had seen it when Karen looked at the children. Poor David. He’ll end up being a dad again in a year or so. 

Karen smiled and quickly disappeared into Michael and Rogue’s bedroom.

Nick spoke up, but with a hushed tone. “I was overseas doing what I’ll call reconnaissance. The Russian and Chinese ‘Presidents’ are HYDRA agents. That was confirmed by my most loyal spy and I believe her.”

“That ain’t good. Gonna send in an assassin and whack ‘em?” Rogue asked, as she smoothed down her t-shirt.

Nick snorted but the idea had merit; It’d certainly create a shitstorm in their perspective countries. The scrambling for political power would buy America and its allies some time to bolster defenses. “I’ll have to speak with the Chiefs about that. Are you volunteering?”

“If Ah didn’t have two kids and a husband dependin’ on me, maybe.” Rogue replied and she seemed quite serious. Before Nick could respond, she added, “Due to circumstances that have happened recently, Ah do think Ah’ll take you up on that offer.” She remembered his proposal to enter the new Super Soldier program, which, on paper, would grant her a high level of invulnerability and help to control her leeching ability. It WOULD keep Sarah and Michael safe. 

“You talk to Frank about this?” Nick asked and pulled out a cigar, lit it, and began to smoke. He ignored the dark expression David gave to him. Nick smoked where he pleased.

Rogue nodded. “He warned me to be cautious but said that it was my decision to make.”

“I’ll help watch my brother and sister while you’re away, Rogue. I think Karen will too.” Maybe, David considered, this will help Karen determine if she even wants one of her own. If she continued in wanting her own child, then he’d think harder about the matter. To have another child, he thought, would be a blessing but a terrifying one. David wanted Karen to be happy.

“Thanks, David.” Rogue said and desired nothing more at this moment than to drift away into a dreamless repose.

Nick turned to David. “Nice interview you gave to your lady friend. Probably not the wisest decision. There’s a reward for Rogue and the rug rats, now Von Strucker’s put you on his hit list. Twenty million, I think. Good going, Dave.”

“The name’s David. Believe me, I had my reasons—the current Director of the CIA being number one. I did the interview to control the story and prevent him from blackmailing me. I will not be commanded or controlled by the likes of him.” David regarded Nick with a stern countenance. “I will not be commanded by you, either.”

Nick laughed. “You’re just like your old man. Frank told me the same damn thing once. Now look at where he is. Fighting for the good guys.” Nick knew the best way to ‘command’ people was to make it appear as if the decision was theirs. Especially with strong-willed individuals such as Frank Castle.

“Manipulation is not the same thing as commanding someone.” David said, every word carefully controlled.

Nick snorted with amusement; David was too pure for this world. Manipulation was a subtle form of command. “Oh, Mystique sent you a letter. I thought about tossing it in the trash, but maybe you’d like to read it.” He leaned over and handed her a fat stack of paper. 

“Ah’ll read it when Ah feel the need to throw up.” Rogue retorted. She accepted the papers but opted for a private reading.

“Alright. Now I’ve been recruiting help while in Eastern Europe. To be exact, Spetsnaz. They don’t like HYDRA. They don’t like that HYDRA has infiltrated their government. Plans are being put into place to cause dissent, a distraction.” Nick left the couch and took care of his cigar. He tossed the extinguished butt in the trash. “Got more to talk with you about, Rogue, but that will wait until tomorrow. Call the HQ number for a ride. Be there about ten.” Then, like the spook he was, left the house.

# # #

Mystique refused her food for the third day. She smeared the gloppy substance on the clear door of her enclosure and the guards came in. They hosed her down with freezing cold water that left her shivering and her thin jail uniform plastered to her body. They tasered her into submission and laughed while she foamed at the mouth. They beat her with their service batons. They threw her across the cell. 

But she did not scream or plead for mercy. That was not her nature. She glared at them with fierce eyes and spat at them. Her restraints, kept on even as she was imprisoned in her cell, made it difficult to move. Otherwise, she would have strangled all of them. She knew her fighting skills were better than theirs.

“Be grateful you’re in here instead of the morgue where you should be.” The guard spat back at her, the glob rolled down her cheek. “You’re a disgrace, using your pregnancy to keep yourself alive. Let’s get out of here and leave this thing alone.”

Mystique curled up into a fetal position and ignored the guard’s parting words. She hoped her body heat would kick in. Soreness reigned supreme through her slight frame and blood trickled from her nose and mouth. She wiped the blood away with the sleeve of her outfit and just tried to relax while she began to fantasize what mayhem she’d bring once she was loose.  
She saved Rogue and Frank for last. Oh, I’ll let them raise my spawn. I’ll let them be happy. Then, when they least expect it, I’ll make my move. Give them a few years, let him become complacent. Let him be happy. Let Rogue worry and marinate in it. Hell, I’ll even protect them, so I can exact my revenge at the right time. I want to kill them. They are to blame for where I am. I just need to get out of here. I would sell my soul to the Devil for a chance to escape.

The thoughts kept her glacial heart warm.

Mystique, wrapped up in her dreams of vengeance, did not hear the door to her prison squeak open. It wasn’t until she heard that sinister and familiar voice call to her that she jerked up and scooted as far as possible from that man.

“What do you want?” She hissed. She’d take the chance and fight if she had to. 

“Simply to care for your injuries. I am a doctor after all. It’s in my Hippocratic oath.” Doctor Essex smiled. Clean clothes, towels and a medical bag were in his arms.

She continued her death glare and did her best to shift into a fighting stance. “And I should let you care for me after you took those samples? Against my will? Fuck you and whatever horse you rode in on.” Her black hair dripped water and bruises were beginning to pop up in colorful blooms on her white skin.

He came over and opened his medical kit. He brought out all the necessities: cleaning solution, band aids, needle and sterile thread. He laid them out with a chilling calmness that disturbed Mystique far more than the guards’ brutality. She understood violence but not this preternatural quiet of character.

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t NEED the type of ‘care’ you provide.” Mystique lashed out at him and he neatly pinned her against the wall.

He laughed in her face, his aquiline features distorted in grotesque amusement. “I’m at least as old as you are, Raven. I’ve been following your exploits for a hundred years. You do need my help if you want to get out of this hellhole. I admire your talents and spirit, as well as your sociopathy. You are a beautiful and lethal weapon that is going to waste. What I did to you was on orders from my Director. It wasn’t personal only business. The government is very interested in your shapeshifting ability and in applying that to future military armor.” 

Mystique calmed down at the words: Get out of this hellhole. “Why should I believe you? You are obviously willing to double-cross your employer.”

“You’ve been known to double-cross, my dear.” He said, sweetly. “It just so happens, I need an assistant with a flair for the violent. You fit the bill quite nicely. Of course, protocols will be put in place to make sure you don’t betray me.”

She brooded for a moment. Make a deal with the devil indeed, she thought. And one that has my antics down pat. But what other choice do I have? Stay here? “I’ll…I’ll do it as long as I have time to myself to pursue my own ends.”

Doctor Essex grinned. “If those ends don’t involve me finding myself in an accident, sure.” Little did she know that he possessed a high degree of invulnerability. “Naturally, I will be keeping track of you. You’ll understand, I’m sure. You’re reasonably bright.” He tended to her injuries with an impersonal touch, efficient and capable, but with no emotion. 

Mystique squashed the growing sense of unease in her gut. She had always walked the thin line of disaster and triumph, always being able to worm her way out of trouble. Am I getting in over my head with this man? Her instincts told her yes, but she had enough confidence to think that she could eventually wrangle her complete freedom. All I got to do is buy myself some time. Everyone has a weakness. Even him.

Essex went on with his speech. “I can’t set you free right away. I’m, to use a quaint idiom, spinning other plates that need tending to. It’ll be too obvious if you were to disappear, so anticipate a short wait.”

“That makes sense to me.” Mystique watched as he finished up and tidied up. Essex was nothing if not meticulous both in his methods and manner. For the first time in her adult life, fear rose up like tentacles to claw at her. “I’ll be acting my normal self, I don’t want to make people suspicious. Maybe act a little cowed.” 

“Don’t forget to eat, you’ll need your strength. And if the guards beat you again, I’ll see to it they are adequately rewarded.” Essex prepared to leave. Now that he was done attending to her medical needs, there was no purpose for him to be with her. 

“How will I know when I’m about to be sprung?” Mystique inquired.

Nathaniel Essex said, “You won’t. It’ll be a surprise.”


	11. Facing the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a rape flashback, it is not gratuitous. Thank you for reading. I appreciate the time every reader takes in reading this.

Rogue sat in a sterile waiting room, devoid of art or reading material.  She stared at the gray wall, lost in her own thoughts.  She talked to Frank earlier in the day on Skype and apprised him of the situation.   She knew that he did not exactly approve of her decision to go through the revamped Super Soldier experiment, but he could appreciate her motivation.   He seemed ambivalent about her temporarily staying with David and Karen, though leaving the house was an action he agreed with.

“You know what to do if things go to shit.” He told her.  He looked exhausted and she hoped he got enough to eat. 

“Ah do and Ah’ll promise they’ll be my first priority.”  If things did go to shit, she thought, their first stop would be to the safe house in New Jersey, then off to some cabin in the middle of nowhere.  It would mean breaking the contract with Nick, but if the situation were that dire, there were more pressing problems at hand.

“How’s Frankie doing?” Frank Castle asked.  Frankie had become a nickname of sorts for his eldest son.  Rogue was encouraged; she thought it meant that Frank had completely accepted him as his own.

Rogue, surprised, answered.  “He’s sober.  Busy as hell.  Ah think he misses being out on the field; he’s a man of action and not a bureaucrat.  He’s GREAT with the kids, but Ah catch him looking sad sometimes. He’s probably remembering his own children.”  She paused.  “He’s going to ask Karen to marry him.  Ah don’t know when, but Ah saw the ring.  Ah think he’s rushing things and Ah told him so.”

“He’s a grown man and can make his own decisions, Lori.  If it bites him on the ass, so be it.” Frank muttered to her. He did not tell her to butt out of David’s life, but his tone implied that she should. 

Rogue took the hint and changed the conversation.  “Karen’s a sweet person and is good with Sarah and Michael. She’ll take care of them while Ah’ll be occupied.”  Of course, Karen had a lot of spare time.  Other journalists complained about her interview, out of jealousy, and the editor fired her on a spurious charge of ‘conflict of interest’. That solved David’s problem, but left Karen with one of her own.   “Ah also got a letter from Raven. Ah read it.  Full of shit and Ah tore it up.”

“What was it about?” His expression blackened visibly, even through the slight digital distortion on the screen.  She knew that face. Murder was on his mind.  Although, in this case, she would consider it justice not murder.

She sighed and gave him a brief run down.  “Look, Ah know she’s trying to get under my skin for any sort of reaction.  She wants me to visit her, but Ah’d probably kill her.  Ah got things to tell her myself—mostly telling her that Michael is my son.  Mine.”

“I don’t recommend seeing her, but that’s me.” Frank’s connection was getting fuzzy. “I have to go, time’s up.  Take care of yourself and the children.” He said, gruffness hiding the fact he wanted to be with them.

“Ah will. Ah love ya and try to be safe out there.”  She said as the screen went blank.

A voice calling her name brought her back to the dreary waiting room.  “Agent Castle?  The doctor will see you now.” The voice came from a stern looking nurse, resplendent in gray scrubs.  She held a hospital gown in her arms.

Nervousness echoed through her veins, but Rogue smiled gamely at the other woman.  Nurse Rosa Sanchez was the name on her badge.  “Thank you, Nurse Sanchez.” 

Nurse Sanchez did not return her gesture but led Rogue to a chair with sturdy and wide arms.  “Sit here while I draw blood.  After that, you’ll need to use the bathroom across the hall so we can have a sample of your urine.  I hope you don’t suffer from ‘performance’ anxiety.”  This time, Nurse Sanchez did grin.  Or was it a smirk?  Rogue did not care for the expression.

“Ah don’t.” The reply was short and to the point.  She watched as Nurse Sanchez tapped her arm and found a vein.  She continued to watch as the nurse inserted a needle, it stung, but Rogue ignored it as she saw blood fill a vial then as Nurse Sanchez popped off that vial to replace it with another one.  Four more containers followed suit until the woman withdrew the needle and put a sterile cotton ball on her arm.

“Hold this while I get the tape ready.” She gruffly said as she searched for said object.  After she found it in a tray, she quickly applied it.  She handed Rogue a sealed cup and told her to fill it as much as possible.  “I’ll wait here until you’re done.  Try to make it quick.  Dr. Essex is not a man to keep waiting for long.”

Rogue did what she needed to in the bathroom and returned with a nearly full cup. 

Nurse Sanchez waved over a technician to retrieve the blood and urine samples.  “When you get to the exam room, put on the gown and wait for the good doctor.  He’s a stickler for time and you won’t be alone long.  I’ll be attending also, as we want to make sure you get the best care.”

The walk was short, thankfully, and Rogue shrugged out of her street clothes and into the gown which left her with the uncomfortable feeling of being exposed.  She plunked down on the examination table and waited for ten minutes, although it stretched into an eternity.   She contemplated whether she should have listened to Frank when she heard a knock and the nurse say, “Dr. Essex will see you now.”

The doctor was nothing she expected. Handsome and cold with a closely trimmed beard and mustache.  His dark hair did not have a sliver of gray hair and his calculating eyes sized her up like she was a lab rat.  He was impeccably dressed under his lab coat, with a gray shirt, black pants and a deep crimson tie.

She squirmed on the table but managed a greeting.  “Hello, Doctor Essex.  Nice to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Castle.”  He smirked at her.  So this was the woman married to the infamous Punisher.  She was a lovely woman, he noted, but more importantly, she happened to be a mutant.  Her DNA would be invaluable to his personal research and she seemed the likeliest candidate for the Super Soldier program.  “Let’s get down to the business at hand.  We’re both busy people.”

He took her vitals and asked her questions.  “Have you had any children?  Any problems with your menstrual cycle?  Are you on birth control?”

She frowned at the intimate questions.  They were legitimate medical questions, she supposed, but they seemed more appropriate for a gynecologist.  “Ah’ve never been pregnant.  No problems with the monthly visitor and yes, Ah’m on the pill. Due to my husband off to his duty, Ah doubt Ah’m pregnant. Ah’ve legally adopted my husband’s children so Ah ain’t planning on any more for the time being—got my hands full as it is.”  With his long deployment, there wasn’t much opportunity for me to get knocked up, she thought to herself.

“The urine sample will confirm whether or not you’re pregnant.  I won’t be able to put you in the program if you are, the chances for miscarriage and birth deformities are too great.  I will say, you’re in top physical condition. All your vitals are well within the normal range.  Provided your blood tests do not come back abnormal, I’ll be happy to make you my candidate.”  He told the nurse to see if the results were ready for him to interpret.

After Nurse Sanchez left, Rogue said sarcastically, “Are you sure you don’t want to give me a woman’s exam?  Why the curiosity about my cycles?”

He chuckled at her sarcasm.  “It’s unlikely, but irregular periods can indicate a variety of health problems.  Such as thyroid complications or polycystic ovary syndrome—also known as PCOS.  Women with PCOS have a greater risk of developing diabetes or heart disease.  I apologize if my questions offended you.”

She sensed his apology was not quite genuine, but she accepted it.  “Ah wish Ah knew more about my family medical history, but that was lost long ago.”

Dr. Essex was about to respond when the nurse came in with papers.  She handed them to Dr. Essex who read them with clinical interest.  “Your blood work came out; you are in great health.  And you’re not expecting, so I will proceed with you as my candidate.  Director Fury should update you when we’re ready to proceed to the next step, which should be in a few days.”

“May Ah get dressed now? Ah’ve got another appointment to keep.” Rogue asked and started to feel creeped out by the ‘good’ doctor.  She found that he could not be read because his façade was so aloof and commanding. Rogue drew the conclusion he was more than he appeared to be.  And she began to doubt whether she should participate in this program, even if it was for her children’s safety.

“Tell me about your ability, briefly.  I’m a geneticist so I may be of help to you.” Dr. Essex said, soothingly.  He saw bits of apprehension spark in her eyes, playing out like a drama.  He wanted to reassure her as he refused to let this opportunity slip away. 

Rogue described her power to him.  “Ah want a way to permanently control it.  Ah don’t like using my power and Ah’ll be a liability to my family if Ah ever lose my ring.” The urge to get her clothes on and escape grew, but the doctor’s presence prevented her from doing so.  She ran her hand through her hair and wished he’d leave.

“Part of your problem is that you can’t exactly practice so that you could learn control.  Part of it might be psychological.  Did you have childhood trauma? Death of a parent?  Subconsciously, you might be using your given mutation to keep people at an arm’s length. Literally.”  Dr. Essex sat in a chair, next to her.

Rogue started suddenly.  “Ah’ve never thought of it in that way.  My biological father died before Ah was born and my ma passed away in what Ah’ll call a violent manner.”  Yeah, suicide by cop was a vicious way to go. Especially in front of one’s daughter, she mused angrily.  Rogue still believed her natural mother was a coward who took the easy way out rather than face justice. Instead, Rogue had been shifted from foster home to foster home.  She remembered the hopeless feeling when she was told she had to go.  Eventually, Rogue stopped caring. 

“We’ll work on that,” Dr. Essex promised as he stood up.  “I’ve held you up long enough.  Nurse Sanchez will show you out when you’ve dressed.”

 

#   #   #

“You sure you want to do this, Rogue?” Nick asked as he escorted her into the special facility designed for mutant or other super powered criminals. They strode down long corridors with sturdily built cells. Some were occupied, most were not. “She’s a sociopathic bitch that doesn’t deserve your time.” His words echoed down the hall.

Rogue balled up her fists and bit back a more scathing reply.  “Ah know, Nicky. But she wrote things that are not forgivable, and they need to be addressed.  Mikey’s MY kid.  Ah love him. Ah care for his needs.  Ah am his mother in every way that counts.  DNA doesn’t make a mother; love does.”  Not to mention Mystique’s remarks on how Frank was a terrific lover. Those words would be addressed also.  As far as Rogue was concerned, Mystique duped Frank into nonconsensual sex and Rogue held strong opinions about that subject.  

“What are you going to tell him when he gets older?” Nick drew a deep puff from his cigar.  That would prove to be an interesting and complicated conversation.  He disregarded her use of the name ‘Nicky’.  She’d do as she damned well pleased and that was one reason he liked her so much. He once again thought Rogue was the daughter he never had. 

“Ah plan on telling him that his birth mother could not care for him, but that Ah consider him my own.  When he hits eighteen, perhaps we’ll tell him the whole truth, but that depends on if we think he can handle it.” Rogue, still tense at remembering Mystique’s letter, walked up to a gate that guarded the maximum security portion of the prison.  Cameras were pointed in their direction.

Nick talked to the guards to admit them.  They both looked Rogue over and she was glad she wore her SHIELD uniform.  They, with great reluctance, admitted them.  One of the guards, a big man whose muscles strained against his shirt, followed Nick and Rogue inside.  He and Nick stayed at a respectful distance while Rogue approached the transparent cage.

“Karma’s a real bitch, ain’t it?” Rogue drawled as she watched Mystique leave her bed and come closer to her.  “You sold me and put me in a cage.  Now here you are; locked up and society is safe from you.  At least your accommodations are more spacious than mine were.”

“Rogue, darling, so you did get my letter. I was being to think that it had gotten tossed.” Mystique purred.  Someone to toy with, she thought, and alleviate some of this god damned boredom.

“Ah ain’t your darling.  Ah’ve taken umbrage with what you said in that letter.” Rogue said as she crossed her arms.  “Michael is my son. You tossed him away like you did your other three children. You didn’t even look at him after he was born. You’re a piss poor excuse for a ‘mother’, and Ah’m using that term very loosely.”

“And you and Frank are eternally saddled with a physical reminder of me.” Mystique grinned.  “I had your man and he was great.”

Rogue’s face darkened like a hurricane coming inland. “You had nonconsensual sex with him.  You raped Frank and what’s worse is that you USED MY APPEARANCE TO DO IT!   You tried to ruin the best thing Ah had going in my life, Raven.” When Rogue uttered the word ‘raped’, she remembered what happened to her when she was imprisoned. The unwanted hands over her, the punches, the brutality. The repeated violations.  She shook with unresolved anguish and anger.

Rogue shrieked, flooded with rage at this point.  She rushed the cage and battered it with her fists. “Ah hate you, Ah HATE you, AH HATE YOU!  And if Ah hear you’re ever released, Ah hunt you down and kill you.”  By this time, Nick and the guard had come to haul Rogue away from the prison cell.

It took the strength of both men to take her away from Mystique, who had a horrified look on her face.  Rogue relished that. Mystique, apparently, did not like what she had seen in Rogue’s blue eyes. They guided her to an interview room and tactfully left her alone. Nick made conversation with the guard. The screaming became crying and when that died down, Nick came to her.

“You alright, Agent?” He asked, with an uncharacteristic sense of understanding.  She looked like hell, he thought, with her blood-shot eyes and runny nose. The feisty light in her eyes was dimmed and he hated to see that.  He sat in the chair next to her and he rummaged around until he found a cloth handkerchief.  Normally, he used it as an impromptu bandage but now it would serve a kinder purpose.

She accepted his gift, dried her eyes and blew her nose.  The cloth rattled with the force of the action. Her hands trembled and she fought against the urge to cry again. “No.  Ah’m not.  Ah thought Ah got over it, but Ah guess Ah didn’t.”

“I don’t think what you went through is an event you simply get over.  For some people, processing trauma comes in waves.”  Nick dryly stated.  “Do you need psychological support?”

Rogue sniffed and used the handkerchief again.  She gathered her errant thoughts.  “Ah’ve never been so furious before.  Ah don’t know where that came from.  That kind of anger ain’t good for me, so Ah think Ah do need some help.”  She hesitated, before adding, “Frank told me meeting up with Raven might not be a good idea, but maybe it was.  Maybe this brought out the pain in me that Ah buried.  Maybe it was better for it to come out now, rather than down the road.”

“Maybe.” Was all Nick said.

She put her head on his shoulder as a fresh torrent of tears rolled down her cheek.


	12. Blood on the Roses

Nick drove Rogue back to her temporary home. The powerful black car rumbled through the streets of D.C, skirting around the tourist attractions to avoid traffic. 

“You aren’t going to do me a lick of good in your state, Agent Castle.” He said, bluntly. “You’re exhausted, you’re stressed, and you have PTSD. I don’t blame you. What happened to you is not your fault. In fact, I’d be worried if you didn’t have any emotional shit to deal with. But you gotta go talk with a shrink and get the tools you need to deal with your issues. When the SHIELD psychiatrist clears you for duty, I’ll put you back in the Super Soldier program.”

“But...” Rogue interjected but was cut off by Nick.

“No buts. Look, kid, you’ve got guts and a great work ethic. You take no shit. You need help, Lorelai. For you, Frank, and for your children.” He parked in front of David’s house. He gave her a stern look. “I mean it. Get your ass into the psychiatrist’s office. Tomorrow. Work on yourself.”

Rogue sensed this was a battle she would not win, and deep down, she knew he was probably right. She recognized she may need to get a few issues off her mind. For the good of the kids, if not herself. “Alright, Ah’ll do it. Set up the appointment and Ah’ll go.” She dragged herself out of the car and up the few steps to David’s house. 

She did not pay any attention as Nick drove off. She unlocked the door, David was gracious enough to give her a spare key, and stepped inside to hear the pearls of girlish laughter. They were underscored by deep, male chuckles. Karen was feeding Michael and she had a beatific smile on her face, which lightened Rogue’s mood. 

“What are Sarah and David doing?” Rogue asked.

“Oh, Sarah had a hankering for a tea party and David obliged. I know he must be exhausted, but it’s good to see him relaxed.”Karen offered to give Michael over so that Rogue could finish feeding him, but Rogue waved her off.

“No, Ah’ll let you have the pleasure. Ah’ll have enough opportunities to feed him over the next couple of weeks. Ah need to unwind a bit.” Rogue gave Karen the barest rundown of the day’s events, without delving into any particularly sensitive subject.

David smiled at Sarah, his heart lightened by how Sarah poured the tea into their tiny cups. A little splashed over the sides, but for her age, she did a good job. The tea, in all actuality, was apple juice. Tiny cookies sat on an equally tiny plate, waiting to be eaten. They both wore plastic tiaras, though Sara donned a bright pink feather boa. They used the coffee table and sat on the floor.

“How was your day?” Sarah chimed, her voice sweet and cheerful. She grabbed a cookie and ate it, crumbs tumbled down on her pink princess dress. He took one as well and bit into the soft, chewy treat. Chocolate chip, his favorite.

“I was kept pretty busy, but it was a good day.” He felt his tiara slip and he pushed it up, while Sarah giggled. He tried to push all thoughts of work out of his mind, but little tasks that needed to be done crept back like spiders, leaving silken threads in their wake.

Sarah sighed, and her expression dimmed, as if clouds marred her thoughts. “I miss Dad. I hope he’s OK and I just want him back. Momma misses him too. I hear her crying at night sometimes—and I don’t want her to be sad. She’s happy when he’s home.”

“I miss him too.” David said and made a mental note to take Rogue aside for a quick conversation. I miss all the years that we should have had as father and son. The child that I was misses the kite flying lessons, the hugs and hair tussles. I miss him being able to see my children grow up and the lost opportunities he had to be a grandfather. “Your father is doing what grown men need to do. Protect families. Everyone’s families.”

Sarah tried to smile, failed, but David leaned over the table to kiss her forehead. That brought her some joy and she managed to look happy again.

“I still want him to come home.” Sarah said. “I don’t know why he has to be gone all the time.”

How can I explain to her how much he gave up keeping her safe? Signed his life back over to the military so he could go legit? I can’t. She’s not old enough to comprehend all the nuances behind his actions. She’s smart and amazingly empathetic for a five-year old, but she’s got limits. “He’s got a duty. Like I do. We’re both sworn to protect the country from bad people.”

She did not fully understand, but Sarah let the conversation go. All she knew is that she needed her father and to feel secure. “Will you read me a story? Please?”

David told her that he would. “As soon as we clean up.”

After Sarah helped to wash up the dishes, he read to her.  Her favorite story, A Tail from Ponyville, as a matter of fact. He left her contently playing with her ponies as he sought out Rogue.  He found her in the kitchen, holding Michael and talking with Karen.  The women were comfortably talking about life in general and Rogue brought up a tidbit or two about the struggle of married military life.

“Can I talk privately with Rogue for a moment?  We’ll go out to dinner after that, Karen.”  This was the night he planned to propose, and he hoped to the depths of his being that she’d accept.  The ring box was in his jacket pocket and he longed to give it to her now.  

“Sure. I’ll just go get ready.  Will it be a fancy restaurant?” Karen kissed him, her blonde hair tickled against his cheek.  “I love you, David.” She whispered.

“Love you too, Karen. I’ve made reservations at Di Ricci’s.” Di Ricci’s had the best Italian cuisine in all of D.C—and he reserved the entire restaurant for the evening.  It would be just the two of them, the staff, and dozens of white rose bouquets and candles.  He could not wait until Karen saw the romantic evening he had planned.

Her eyes widened as she knew how hard it was to even get into Di Ricci’s. This must be a special occasion, indeed. “My favorite black dress it is, then.”  She then went to go shimmy into the dress and apply enough makeup to look fresh and natural.

David drew in his breath and thought about what to say to Rogue.  He decided, given Rogue’s feisty temperament, that getting to the point but being polite about it, was the way to go.  “Sarah told me that she’s heard you crying at night.  Is that true?”

Rogue lowered her head to focus on Michael’s chubby little face.  She saw some of Frank’s facial features stamped on him, emerging as Michael grew older, along with thick, baby fine black hair. “It's true. Ah've been dealin' with some personal issues and tryin' to keep everything together. Ah'm lonely, overworked, and Ah worry about Frank out fightin'. Ah worry about makin' Sarah feel secure and to keep her happy. She deserves a better childhood than the one she's gotten so far.” Her accent came out strong, a sure sign of deep emotion.

“You're dealing with a shit ton of problems, but you don't have to deal with it by yourself. Why don't you stay here on a more permanent basis? At least until Frank's home. The unfinished basement is huge and I can have people come in and put in three more bedrooms and a bathroom. Maybe a small kitchen. Hell, it'll increase the property value on my house. I just thought I'd use it for storage, but family takes priority.” David offered. “You'll be able to have privacy but still be close to us.”

“That is extremely generous, David. Ah think Ah might take you up on the offer, but let me talk to Frank about it before Ah make my final decision. Company will be nice since Ah've been pulled off the roster til Ah get some help.” Rogue shrugged and kissed Michael's forehead. “Ah've been wrestlin' with some past trauma and it hasn't been going so well.”

The psychologist in David wanted to inquire about her trauma and try to offer some words of comfort and healing but Karen came back before he could tactfully ask. She was absolutely gorgeous in her black dress, the cut flattered her figure and complemented her skin tone and hair. A pearl necklace hung around her neck and added elegance to her ensemble.

“Ready to go out, David?” She stopped and looked at Rogue, who appeared downtrodden and exhausted. “Are you going to be okay, Rogue?”

“Ah will be fine. Ah'll get Sarah and Mikey their baths and put them to bed. Then Ah'll see if Ah can get some shut eye myself.” Rogue smiled but it was a sad one. She thought she spotted a square shaped bulge in David's jacket pocket. “You two go out and enjoy yourselves. Ah mean it. Go and enjoy yourselves.” Rogue repeated as Michael flailed his arms, well fed and content. Rogue's expression this time was one of love and contentment, her troubles pushed out by a squirming bundle of joy.

 

# # #

The dinner was spectacular and the ambiance perfect. They talked about his day and about current events, hopes for the future, anything that entered their minds. The staff was unobtrusive but always made sure the needs of David and Karen were met. They ate delicious and authentic Italian cuisine and drank sparkling water from fine crystal—no wine for either of them. For desert, they had tiramisu. Karen's eyes lit up when she saw the white roses and how romantic music poured over them. 

“I'm sorry you were fired. Do you know your next career move?” David asked as he polished off his dessert. Karen was a person who liked to keep busy. Unemployment would drive her crazy. 

“Well,” She started. “I was thinking of starting a true crime podcast and delving into the treacherous world of novel writing, unless that would violate some FBI protocol that I don't know about. I've already got two stories researched and written.”

David considered this proposition as he wiped off his face with a linen napkin. “It'd be no problem. I can even offer some advice. I can't go into great detail about how we conduct investigations, but I'll answer some questions.” The box rested in his pocket and it seemed to burn a hole through the fabric directly into his chest.

Karen, on the other hand, began to wonder why more customers were not filing in. This was a very popular dining establishment and it was odd they happened to be the only people here. “We're all by ourselves. How did you manage to pull this off?” Her blue eyes gleamed with speculation and hope. It was clear to David that she was beginning to suspect this dinner was leading up to what he had planned. 

He left his chair and went down on bent knee. His heart beat so loudly, David thought he could hear it. He pulled out the box and opened it, a beautiful and fiery diamond ring lay nestled in black velvet. “Karen, will you marry me and be a part of my family?” He asked, tremulous hope made his voice crack. He watched as tears poured down her face and messed up her mascara. She nodded, unable to speak and he slid the ring onto her finger. She left her chair to embrace him, drying her eyes against his jacket.

“What made you change your mind, David?” Karen asked when she found her voice. She clung onto him as if he was the last solid anchor in the world. She was pleased that he proposed, but earlier conversations led her to think that he was scared of commitment. Justifiably so, she thought, after that bitch of an ex-wife and the loss of three children. He learned that love has a price and that price is pain.

David shifted around to look her full in her still teary blue eyes. He kissed her forehead before he answered her question. “I can't live without you. I want to build an extension of my family with you.”

“You wouldn't mind having another child?” She asked, incredulous.

David grinned at her. “I want to make you happy and I love being a father.” Being around Sarah and Michael made me crave being a father again, he thought. To mold new people and to see them carry your values into the world is a satisfying feeling. I'm very proud of the people Eleanor and Kevin have become. I'm worried as hell for them, but proud.

# # #

Cristofano Gnucci worked at Di Ricci's. It was his job to arrange tables and assure that every detail from place mats and silverware shone. He was currently on the outs with his family; an exile of sorts. He didn't commit a serious offense against them, but refused to enter the business when Ma asked him. Only his loyalty, after being questioned by the police, kept him in one piece. Ma Gnucci ordered him not to be killed but that he could only come back if he gave the Family a suitable offering and took his rightful place.

He thought about Ma Gnucci, his great-aunt. Fearsome, more fearsome than many men he had known but was also protective of her family. That was the reason she had returned from retirement in Italy; her nephew—his uncle—had been killed by the Punisher and a female accomplice.

He missed his family, the lavish lifestyle at least, and wondered if there were a way to get back in his Grandmother's good graces. I hate this life, hate scrounging for my next meal. I want to go home, even if I have to join the Family and take the oath. Fast cars, pretty women and money could be mine again. IF I can somehow find an asset Ma wants.

He watched as a tall and well-built man entered, introduced himself as David Castiglioni, and asked where he might find the owner. He's God damned huge for an Italian. Cristofano pointed toward the back and mused as to why he would want to talk with the owner.

A female co-worker came over and said, “Do you know who that is? That's the FBI Director!”

“He is?” Cristofano asked as he plunked down a fine set of house china. “Why should I care about some tooty-fruity law enforcement asshole?”

“He's also the Punisher's son. I didn't know he'd be so dreamy in person, though. Those broad shoulders and deep blue eyes...” She sighed.  
“The Punisher has a son?” Dumbfounded, he blurted out the question.

His co-worker sighed again, this time in frustration with her thickheaded compatriot. “Don't you read the newspapers? He was stolen as a child during the Central Park massacre and was thought to be dead. Long story short, he discovered old Skull Head was his father and came out to be fully transparent with who he was. Honest and handsome, what a man.”

“A guy like him isn't ever going to be interested in you.” Cristofano said. He was annoyed by her fawning over David and attempted to burst her bubble of illusion.

“Go fuck yourself, Cristofano.” She told him before she went to attend to her own duties. Cristofano is a colossal limp tool, she thought. Except when customers are here, then he behaves like a non douche bag for the tips.

He saw the man known as David Castiglioni leave, with the owner beaming in his wake. The owner, Giovanni Di Ricci, waved his employees in. “That man has rented the entire restaurant for two hours next week so he can propose to his girlfriend. I know we don't normally do that, but he has some influence and, well, he's clearly smitten with her. I want everyone here to be discreet. He is paying well for our silence.”

Cristofano started the laborious process of thinking. He'd be worth something to Ma. Maybe even enough to get me in her good graces. I'll go snooping in Mr. Di Ricci's office for the details later on. With a smile, he went about his day. 

Later on, after Di Ricci made a run to the bank to withdraw money for the restaurant, Cristofano saw his opportunity. He tiptoed into the office and quickly found the schedule: D. Castiglioni. Private dinner for two. May 7th at 7:30 P.M. He wrote that down on a napkin then stuffed it in his pocket. He'd call cousin Fredo after work to relay the details.

# # #

While David and Karen were dining, oblivious to anyone else but each other, Cristofano quietly let seven men in through the delivery entrance. All were armed and they managed to subdue the kitchen staff and Mr. Di Ricci without a fuss. They put them in the freezer and locked it. Cristofano and another man put a heavy table in front of the door for extra insurance.

“We'll take care of them after we do the Director and his floozy. I think maybe a robbery will make a good cover-up story.” Fredo asked. “You did good, kid. ” 

Cristofano smirked and the light shone on his perfectly styled hair. “I gotta come back to the family. I hate this hellhole. Do you think this will be my ticket back?”

“It should be but enough chit chat. You go in first and grab the chick—if we control the woman, it'll be easier to subdue the man. Ma wants him alive. Why? I don't know. Those are her orders.” Fredo thought that she wanted to have a 'discussion' with him. Maybe she wanted to videotape an execution and send it to Frank Castle. All he knew was that he dare not disobey her. “Go on, kid. Time's a-wasting.”

 

Karen and David, in the meantime, assumed their seats and talked about some wedding ideas. 

“I just want a simple wedding—a courthouse one would suffice. I've no family to speak of and some of yours are out keeping us safe.” Karen told him as she finished off her sparkling apple cider. “A wedding is supposed to be about love and not how much people spend on frivolities.”

David agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught one of the staff approach them. He did not think much of it until the waiter grabbed Karen by her golden hair and brought her close to his body. The waiter held a steak knife to her throat.

“I've got her. It's safe to come out.” Cristofano shouted and the kitchen doors swayed open to reveal seven men.

The blood that ran through David's veins turned cold. His eyes reflected nothing but his mind began to calculate. He felt no anger, that part of him was turned off, and the logical side took over. The gun in his holster reassured him. David was a great marksman and wondered just how good this goons were at gunplay. They appeared to be semi-professional, which to him meant Mafia. He thought that he should take a chance. 

“We're from the Gnuccis.” Fredo explained. “If you behave, the lady will be let go. If not, she'll be killed.” At a gesture, Cristofano cut her necklace, pearls spilled over the floor. Karen's eyes were wide with terror and a growing undercurrent of anger. She tried to break away, but the knife ever so gently pressed into her lily-white neck. She stopped her attempts immediately.

David was no fool. They'll kill her anyway. If they haven't already murdered the employees, they'll snuff them as well. I've got to do something. He thought that he should take a chance. 

He pulled out his handgun and shot the man in the head who held his Karen. The blood and brain matter splattered on the white roses. Then all hell broke loose.


	13. Lover in the Ashes

Fredo lunged toward David after the violent death of Cristofano. He stepped onto the spilled pearls then lost his balance. David scooted out of the way and let Fredo land face first onto their table. A crash resounded and Fredo screamed as broken plates and glass cut his face. David quickly shot Fredo in the neck, a nearly instant kill. Blood poured from Fredo like wine from a bottle.

Five rounds left in my Sig Sauer. Gotta make them count. There's six men left. He appraised the situation and did not think they would willingly surrender. He shot a man in the shoulder, near the neck, and the others seemed poised to bull rush him. The injured man slumped against a wall, leaving a crimson streak before he collapsed to the floor. Blood pumped out of his gunshot wound and he lost consciousness.

Karen grabbed her clutch and David barked out, “Run, Karen. Find cover.” He moved between her and the other men who began to rush toward him. 

She did find cover by overturning a table and crouched behind it. She opened her small purse with hands that did not want to cooperate and found her 9 mm handgun. She flicked the safety off. I have to defend myself. I have to defend David. She puzzled over how David could stay so calm, but realized it was probably due to his FBI training and previous experiences. He must be getting hardened to violence. Maybe he does have a genetic predisposition for it, if there is such a thing.

“We gotta take him alive or Ma'll have our hides.” One of them barked and they all rushed at him. They hit him with the fury of a tornado and his gun was knocked out of his grip. The Sig Sauer skittered just a few feet away, tantalizing close.

He was dazed for a moment before he thought of Karen. If I die, they'll kill her. I need to find a way to survive long enough to give Karen a chance. David prepared himself to die, if it would see her safe. His hand searched for a weapon and came across a shard of broken china, the sharp edge nicked his finger. This will do. He grasped it then slit one of their throats, blood sprayed over his face. David pushed the man off of him then jabbed the next Gnucci henchman in the eye. He shoved the piece upwards until he was unable to go any further.

Someone punched him and then he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun discharging. Discernible even though he reeled from the blow. 

“Get the fuck off of my fiance. Fucking NOW.” Karen shouted. “That was a warning shot. The next time, I will shoot one of you.” The gun, gleaming silver in the light, quivered. Karen hoped to never use the firearm, but here she was. Looking down the sights toward people that meant her and David malicious intent.

“Karen, get the hell out of here!” David told her and took advantage of the momentary distraction to retrieve his weapon and scramble to his feet. He then assumed his position between Karen and the three remaining assailants. 

They charged at him and Karen pulled her trigger. The bullet grazed David's arm and lodged itself, center mass, to the astonishment of both David and the man she shot. “I told you I'd do it. Kiss the ground or I'll do the same to the rest of you!” Where this fury came from, she could not say. Perhaps having a day that was supposed to be about love turned into a fight for survival? All she knew was an anger that simmered in her guts. She prayed that she would not have to draw down on another person as long as she lived.  
Sirens blared in the background, and David repeated her demand. Someone must have called the cops. Good. He kept his gun trained on them, and the blood on his face almost seemed to be in a skull pattern. “Get down on the ground. Give up. Put your hands behind your head and move SLOWLY.”

The men glanced among themselves and decided to surrender. There was no point, other than avoiding Ma Gnucci's wrath, to keep on fighting. Maybe they could make a deal to keep themselves away from Ma's formidable reach to live another day, even if it meant being incarcerated. They did as ordered, lowering themselves to the carpet with great care, then placed their hands behind their heads.

The cops came in and David let them take over. Police and paramedics rescued the kitchen staff. David was thankful they were unharmed. They were traumatized, but none of them had serious injuries. The wounded men were taken off to the hospital. The dead were left where they lay; no hurry to take them to the morgue. He turned to check on Karen, who still clutched the gun in her hands. David put his hand on the gun and pushed it down. He said, as reassuringly as possible, “It's OK. We're safe. You can take your finger off the trigger.”

Karen did as he requested and put the safety back on for good measure. She peered up at David and saw what the mobsters had: a bloody skull imprinted over his face. The red color made his eyes a sharper hue of blue. Despite the fancy—and now ruined suit—he radiated a protective danger. Dangerous for evil doers, but she knew he would never lay a finger on her. She shivered, not out of fear for her well being but for his. 

“What about you? I thought you were hit by a bullet. My bullet.” Karen said, struggling with guilt, as two detectives filed in. She was sure they'd want to talk with them.

He shrugged. “I'm not in pain and I think the bullet just grazed me. I'll have a medic look at it later.” He caught her expression and added. “Please don't blame yourself. You did what you had to. We're alive and the bad guys have been apprehended. Innocent people were saved. At the end of the day, that's what matters.” He had a thought that she might leave him and he told himself that he would understand if she did. It'll break my heart but her happiness and peace of mind is more important. David did not want her to go through another one of these situations. Violence changed people. It changed his father, it changed him.

A sharp dressed detective came up to them and introduced himself. His dark brown eyes were full of compassion. He had taken in the scene and assumed this was supposed to be a romantic outing for the two of them. “Director Castiglioni, Ms. Page. I'm Detective Jones. My partner is currently interviewing the staff. Would you mind giving a statement?” 

The detective saw the wet patch on the upper arm of David's jacket. “Have you been injured?” He noticed the blood on David and handed him a handkerchief, which David used.

“Yes. I accidentally shot David.” Karen piped up before David could intercede. “I was just trying to help and I hurt him.”

“I see.” Detective Jones sighed. The woman obviously felt horrible about what she had done. “Ms. Page, what happened to you is reality. Shots go bad and friendly fire is an unfortunate consequence. Director Castiglioni, I'll bring someone over to look at you while I'll take your statement. I'll try to not keep you long.” Detective Jones continued, “The Deputy Director has been notified and will be here soon.”  
They returned home under tight security. FBI agents examined the house, inside and out, before David and Karen were permitted inside. Rogue and the children were briefly disturbed by the agents, and Rogue was lightly questioned.

Rogue adjusted her bathrobe after the agents made a discreet retreat. “You look like hell, David. You're going to have a shiner—someone clobbered you good.” She squinted at his face. His nice suit was a disaster and she noticed a large red stain on his white shirt. And Karen—she seemed dimmed somehow. A little less light to her eyes. She pondered as to what happened at the restaurant, nothing good she wagered, but decided she'd ask when everyone had more rest.

“Probably.” David wanted to clean himself off then just to relax. “I'm going to grab a shower if it won't bother you.”

Rogue shook her head. “No, go ahead. Ah'm gonna amble off to bed.”

After both Karen and David showered off, he sat down on the edge of the bed. It felt as if he had the weight of the Empire State Building on his heart. Out of respect, he kept his eyes on his feet while she shrugged into a silken ivory chemise.

“I'd understand if you don't want to marry me after what happened tonight.” Ever since, I found my father my life has become more violent, he thought. “An ambush at a restaurant is hardly an auspicious beginning to a marriage.”

Karen sighed and settled next to him. She saw where the emergency personnel sewed him up. Only a few stitches, but she still felt guilty. No words of his would take that away, only time. “David, I want to marry you. This hasn't changed my mind. But has yours changed?” She laid her hand on his thigh, just below the line of his boxers.

“No.” He looked at her, then brushed his hand against her hair. “I want to but I'm worried for you. I'll never love violence, but I'm getting comfortable using it. It feels like a shoe that's finally been broken in. And I'll probably have to be violent in the future.” Especially if society crumbles. There was rampant brutality on the streets now. Gangs were bold. They know law enforcement is busy with other threats. The citizens are getting antsy. Gun sales have been up, even in places like New York, and stores have run out of stock. He hoped those people were taking gun classes.

“How bad is it out there?” Karen whispered. This was the closest she had come to asking him about his job.

He thought she was entitled to know his thoughts on the matter. “In my opinion, the situation is dire. I know that HYDRA is up to something big. I don't know what because they communicate offline. We're trying to get agents to infiltrate the organization, but it's dangerous and not many agents are willing to take the risk. And I won't make them. You can't talk about that, Karen. To anyone.”

Karen realized he said more than he meant to. “I won't. I promise.” 

“My deputy has informed me that a security detail will be attached to me from now on. Nick will continue to supply one for Rogue. As for you, you'll only get one if you're my wife.” David moved so he stretched out his long form on the bed. He stared at the ceiling and hoped sleep would come soon.

“Fiances don't count?” Karen followed suit and nestled next to him. Her arm crept across his chest and she craved this nearness. Touching him made her fears fade into the distance like smoke. It was just the two of them, alone in this bed and this time. She did not have to share him with anyone right now. Karen understood that he had his duty, and she appreciated that he took responsibility, but it was nice to have a few minutes alone with the man she loved.

“Apparently not.” He said, his tone dry. David kissed her forehead. “Be careful when you're around the city by yourself. Stay in a crowd and, for God's sake, keep away from more crime prone locations. Keep your gun on you.” 

Karen decided to change the conversation. “David,” she smiled as she saw him glance at her, “I need some comfort and ...well, I need some physical affection. Would you...” She drifted off, not quite sure how to finish her question. He stroked her hair, so golden, like a beam of light.

He finished her question. “Would I make love to you?” David thought he knew why she wanted to make love. To put aside the horrifying events of the evening, to drown in flesh, to engage in a life affirming act. “Are you sure?” 

“I am sure.” She replied. Then the moment became just about them.

# # #

“Why must I study about this Vlad Tepes?” Trent asked, petulantly. He had just turned ten. I'd much rather be out hunting or learning gun play.

Von Strucker just smiled. “Vlad Tepes was a fierce man who ruled over his people with a strict but firm hand. Vlad was a man not afraid to do what must be done to save his people. He was a great strategist and fighter as well. You would do well to emulate him.” Von Strucker also relished the fact that Tepes was held as a hostage by the Ottoman empire. Where, by most accounts, Vlad learned the horrific torture technique known as impalement. A situation similar to the one Trent was in, though Trent was not aware of the parallel. 

Trent remained unconvinced but dutifully read the chapter assigned to him. Von Strucker watched as Trent became absorbed by what he read. “He did bad stuff in the name of good?”

Not unlike your grandfather. In some aspects, they are alike. Uncompromising in their pursuit of lawfulness. They were harsh against lawbreakers. They both shared an iron will and formidable intelligence. Von Strucker hoped to turn Trent into a version of the young boy's grandfather that he could control. “Yes, he did. It's what I want to accomplish myself. Mankind is becoming soft, incapable of looking beyond their smartphones. Incapable of the harsh reality of survival. If that 'softness' and reliance on technology continues, it'll be the death of our species.”

Trent took his words in and mulled them about in his twisted, yet clever, mind. “I always hated it when I saw my Mom on her laptop or phone. When she wasn't on them, her time was taken up by Erik. She didn't pay much attention to me. I'm glad she's dead.” Trent loathed his step-dad and always referred to him—when he absolutely had to—by his first name.

Cold words from a cold child, Von Strucker thought. “Let's take a break from studying and go exercise.”


	14. The Rough Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I don't feel as if I thank you, the readers, enough for taking your valuable time to read my stories. Thank you. Thank you to those that comment and thank you to those that don't. I appreciate each and every one of you. Every hit that I see on my stats gives me encouragement to continue. Now, enough with my sentimental babble, on with the story...

Frank grabbed his tablet; he had a restless night. He thought of something to send to his wife. His dreams, or rather nightmares, were full of what HYDRA would do to his family if he failed. He even dreamt of Lisa and Maria, their bodies strewn alongside those of Rogue and their children. Rogue clutched Michael—they were both quite clearly dead. Sarah had her arms around Rogue's waist, a bullet hole in her temple, a tendril of red hair drifted over the bloody and gaping wound. Lisa's insides poured out of her. And that desperate expression that begged for him to help her, that she believed that her father could save her, still brought him low. Those were the ones that truly shivved him in whatever soul he had left.

Tension haunted the air and he suspected there would be a retaliatory attack. He developed a sense for incoming danger back in 'Nam, which had served him well back in that war and his own personal one as a vigilante. Stay safe, he wrote. Give Sarah and Michael a hug. Thank you for the pictures. Rogue picked up the habit of forwarding pictures she took, so in some small way, he could see Sarah and Michael grow. That was his biggest regret regarding his first family; being away often enough to miss his children's' milestones. No matter what happens, I love you. That was their predetermined code for: Be ready to bug out. Shit is going down. It also meant that he was probably going to die and he accepted that.

Just as he hit the send button, explosions destroyed the quiet of the night. He shoved himself into his pants, laced up his boots, retrieved his rifle and charged out of his tent.

Eleanor could only hear a buzzing as she stumbled out of her tent, rifle in hand. She saw her fellow Marines screaming, watched as the dust rose underneath their boots, but could not hear what they were saying nor the sounds of their feet. She remembered the last thing she heard was an explosion, one that was perilously close to her tent.

A rough hand landed on her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Frank whirled her to face him and, though she watched his mouth move, she did not hear the words. He had a concerned scowl on his face and he asked her if she were alright. His granddaughter seemed dazed and trying to concentrate on the chaos.

She heard the words this time, though filtered by a hum. “I can hear you but...” She began to reorient herself and took a deep breathe to calm down.

“Get your gear and head to the front.” He ordered. He didn't bother telling her to go to the medical tent. Her hearing was coming back and he needed her to help fight. Medical attention could come later when the situation had calmed down.

She ducked inside the tent long enough to slip into her protective gear and fasten her helmet. Another boom shocked her to action and she tore out of her tent. She watched in horror as the guard tower, ablaze, splintered and fell. The men on firewatch were consumed by the flames. She ducked behind sandbags as shards of wood and metal flew through the air. She heard exclamations of pain as some of her brothers were struck. She peeked over the edge of her barrier. Ten men were on the ground. A few were silent, but most groaned.

The corpsmen scrambled to assess the damage and to save the men that could be saved. She saw Frank seize someone by the throat, a woman she did not know was there, and he dragged her to a protected corner, sheltered by the improvised walls of the encampment. 

“Who are you?” He asked, knee pressed to her chest. The woman, dressed in black garb which had a HYDRA emblem, scratched at his legs, anywhere she could reach, in an attempt to get out from under him.

Frank's prisoner could only look at him with undisguised terror. It appeared to Eleanor that the HYDRA soldier tried to do something that was not working—Eleanor felt an odd buzzing in her mind. The woman, small and dark, continued her fight against Frank. “My telepathy...is...” She gasped as Frank pushed more of his weight down on her. “I'm not telling you shit.”

“Better people than you have attempted to get into my mind and failed.” Frank grunted, then reached down to snap her neck as easily as if he were breaking a twig. She was too dangerous to keep alive; there was nothing in his arsenal that inhibited powers. He thought of the one exception: Rogue got into my mind and she's still paying for that. Not her fault, it's mine. He supposed he'd always feel accountable for changing her, possibly altering her from who she should be.

He stood up and spied Eleanor's blue eyes directed at him. “Get out there, Marine. Troops are going to be coming in.” Frank pointed northward. “That direction.” It was good that she hid while there was debris flying, but now was the time for fighting. All around them, uninjured men were rallying, ready to engage the enemy. Chaos ruled, but he stood in the center of it; grounded, self-assured and he thrived upon it. Frank Castle was the eerie calm in the midst of the storm.

An artillery shell hit Frank's tent, destroying it instantly and in the distance, the company of Marines heard the popping sounds of gunfire. “Form on me.” He told them and they began the rush toward the enemy.

# # #

Rogue slept—or tried to—in one of Frank's plain black t shirts; a habit that gave her comfort as if she were being embraced by him. Michael had just begun to sleep through the night and she knew she'd have to move him to a crib soon. He was growing like a weed and she thought he would be a large man, which considering the size of other men in his paternal lineage, should have come as no surprise. But it did. Michael was her baby, her heart. She flicked on her phone to read the time. Five o'clock. 

A notification from Frank—that's odd. He's usually too busy to send me a text out of the blue. Rogue frowned and opened her message application. She read the brief message and recoiled at the final sentence. No matter what happens, I love you—message sent at 3:07 AM. Frank was not given to sentimental expressions; he was more of an action-oriented person when it came to matters of affection. They devised a code between the two of them, a way of relaying information without being specific. 'I love you' happened to mean that he faced some clusterfuck that he did not expect to go well.

She put aside her phone and fired up a work laptop. With shaking fingers, she logged into the SHIELD site and dug through some information databases. 3 AM attack near Bonesteel. Telepaths confirmed. Two killed. Heavy casualties on our side. She logged off immediately and knew that Nick would know she had been on.  
Ah have to take action but whatever Ah do—it has to be now. Nick will be on me like white on rice. Rogue thought. Ah need to help Frank and the Marines but there's only one way Ah can do it. Ah have to get the Super Soldier serum. That means Ah'll have to go to the source and over Nick's head.

She dressed in street clothes, made sure Michael was asleep and headed out to see if anyone else was awake. Rogue found David in the living room, relaxing with a cup of black coffee and his laptop. David perused the news as she walked up to him.

“Hey David. Surprised you're up.” Rogue said, as she took a seat near him. “Did you get any sleep? You came home so early.”

“I did, but I still have work. I need to be there at eight-thirty.” David said and suspected that Rogue was about to ask him a question. David raised an eyebrow at her and thought he'd come to the point; he was not in the mood to beat around the bush. “What do you want, Rogue?”

She told him about the message and what it meant. “Ah'm gonna have to do a dangerous thing—it's dangerous for too many reasons to mention. Not only for Frank's sake, but for all those men and women like your daughter who are bravely fighting. They need help. Help that Ah can provide if Ah'm willing to take a chance.”

David whistled. “You're going past Nick to get the Super Soldier serum, aren't you? That IS dangerous and if Nick catches you, there will be hell to pay.” He had been warned about Nick before he took his Director position—Nick whipped a colonel with his belt for being a certified dumb ass. 

“Am Ah that transparent?” Rogue flushed with embarrassment.

“I've learned to analyze what isn't spoken since becoming a psychiatrist and before I joined the FBI.” David paused—Frank was good at analyzing situations and words that remained unspoken. He wondered why he compared himself to his father and hypothesized that it was an attempt to understand himself. David continued to think about what wasn't being asked. Rogue loved his father, and if Frank was in trouble, Rogue needed to help him. Her dedication to her loved ones was part of what made Rogue who she was. Family meant everything to her—David understood that quite well himself—and not to be taken for granted. 

David said, gently. “If you have to do this, go. You'll need all the time you can lay your hands on to stay ahead of Nick and I'll do what I can to cover you. We'll take care of Sarah and Michael—I'm the Director and I'll pull rank to make sure they have a security detail.” He had already decided to do that for Karen and to hell with the regulations. To his chagrin, David also thought he should probably stop volunteering Karen's time before asking her. 

Rogue stood up and gave him a small smile. “Thanks, David. Ah'm gonna take my bike.” She knew where to drive—more or less. The major problem would be to convince Dr. Essex to participate—it all depended on how much he feared Nick and the repercussions for making the SHIELD Director angry. A whisper told her that Dr Essex did not fear much. 

She grabbed her keys and hit the road.

# # #

 

Another explosion rocked the earth, rocks and shards of the artillery shell went flying. Eleanor had dove into the trench and positioned herself to resume fire. She recited part of the rifleman's creed under her breath: My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit. 

Her and her rifle ended many men's lives. Eleanor did not think of them as human at that moment, merely targets to be eliminated. Later, when all was quiet, she would reflect on the needless loss of life. Of just how effortless it was for her grandfather to break the neck of the enemy telepath. But not now when she had a job to do. Every hit counted and she made sure she was as accurate as possible. She reloaded when necessary.

Marine snipers, hidden in the brush, picked off stragglers. 

Frank grunted as he settled next to her. “Good marksmanship, Marine. Cover me.” He found a box, half buried in dirt, and opened it. He pulled out a grenade and threw it. The grenade came to rest under a tank. When it detonated, the tank burst into bright crimson. Smoke billowed out of the war machine but no one tried to exit.

Eleanor covered him as he requested, felling some soldier stupid enough to approach. 

“Heard from command. Jets are coming in for a strafing run.” Frank told her. “We just need to hold out for twenty, thirty minutes.”

“--Ortiz's been shot in the balls. I need help holding him down. Anyone have medical experience?” A corpsman shouted. His fellow corpsman were busy with their casualties. Other Marines were fighting, their rifles blazing with warfire.

Eleanor spoke to Frank. “I took nursing for two years in college. I could help with your permission.”

Frank gave her a short nod. “Get to it, Castiglioni.” He resumed firing at the enemy. She slung her rifle over her shoulder. 

Eleanor crawled over to the corpsman. “I can help. I studied to be a nurse before I joined the Corps.”

“OK, Castiglioni. Hold him down. I'm going to have to cause him some pain to stabilize him enough to move.” She read his name tag: Johnstone. The corpsman, already haggard from the loss he had seen, began to work on him.

“FUCK.” Ortiz screamed. Eleanor held him down. Ortiz tried to glance down at his injury, but Eleanor told him not to. 

“Keep your eyes on me. Don't worry about anything else.” Eleanor kept her gaze firmly on the pain wracked face of Ortiz. She pressed more of her weight on him as Ortiz involuntarily struggled. “Focus on me, Ortiz!” She smelled the coppery tang of blood on the air and heard slight snipping sounds—the sounds of scissors cutting through fabric. Then she heard a muffled curse from the Corpsman and he began to do what he needed so Ortiz could have a chance at being saved. She did not want to know what procedure Corpsman Johnstone was performing.

“Castiglioni, I gave him a drug that'll knock him out in a few moments. Here's where I'll really need your help. Shine a small flashlight while I do what I have to do.” The unspoken words 'Do you think you can look at a man's mangled genitalia' hung in the air.

“I'll help in any way you need.” Eleanor said as he tossed her a flashlight from his pack. She turned it on and, with a steady hand, gave him where he needed it. She glanced toward Ortiz's face to gauge his discomfort. Ortiz remained slack and relaxed, even when the corpsman began to sew him up. The corpsman applied gauze and bandages.

“Thank you.” Corpsman Johnstone told her as he gestured for her to prepare to move him. Eleanor picked up Ortiz by the ankles and they navigated through the trench with care. She helped him get Ortiz out of the trench and toward a waiting medical vehicle.

Someone shouted from a distance, “Direct fire! Two o'clock.”

“Get back to the fight, Castiglioni. We've got him in good hands now, and you're needed.” Corpsman Johnstone told her. He hoped Staff Sergeant Ortiz would turn out fine, but that all depended on the care that he received now. Men possessed delicate and complicated 'plumbing' and he'd need to see a competent urologist to recover.

“Off to do my job.” Eleanor turned and went back to the fight. The sounds of rifles are beginning to thrill me.


	15. Comfortably Numb

“So, Mrs. Castle, you want to go through with the program without Nick's permission or consent?” Dr. Essex's voice was perfectly modulated with concern and interest. He sat behind his desk and was impressed by her determination to go over her superior's head to do what she thought was the right thing to do. _She has a strong will and a deep desire to protect what is hers. That desire, both a strength and a weakness, can be exploited by subtle manipulation. Perhaps I could use that to get out of my other obligation._

Rogue nodded. “Ah need to be able to help my husband and his men. If the serum can do what you say, Ah'll be able to save them and countless others. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one in this instance. And Ah'll be fine, been through worse stuff in my life. Nick's over protective—but Ah don't want you to land in hot water with him.”

“He's not my boss, simply a colleague. I report directly to the Joint Chiefs. There's nothing he can do to me. You, however, should be aware that he will make your life a living hell if you disregard his orders. Director Fury can be quite vindictive when provoked.” Dr. Essex warned. _Let it not be said that she proceeded with lack of counsel._

She thought for a moment then tucked her white lock of hair behind her ear, which Dr. Essex found to be a rather charming gesture of nervousness. “Ah understand but Ah take care of my family. Protecting my husband will protect my children; they need their father as much as they need me.” _Especially Sarah. Ah'm not sure she'll be OK if she loses yet another important person in her life. She's a Daddy's girl._

Dr. Essex gave her a slightly raised eyebrow, as if surprised she believed in family values. “Your children?”

Rogue's lips narrowed to a thin line. “They're mine in all the ways that count. Love makes a family, Dr. Essex, and Ah love them. Even if they weren't conceived under ideal conditions.” Rogue was beginning to tire of having to defend her position as their mother. “Anyway, Ah'm listed on their adoption papers. That makes me their legal mom.”

The doctor agreed with her, not that family mattered to him. He lost his own wife and child long ago. “We should get started before Nick interferes.”

# # #

_That damn woman. That damned head-strong woman. Is this the kind of woman that Frank has to put up with? Does she not listen to him? The serum was still in the custody of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and they'd be within their rights to commandeer her now. And they just might. But she wouldn't know that. I didn't tell her—I should have._ He thought of Frank again. Frank, too, was a rather strong-willed individual, used to doing things his own way and as he thought best. Frank had great instincts that Nick knew he could trust. Nick also remembered that Frank did warn him that Rogue had a stubborn streak a mile wide. He realized that he should have been more mindful of that.

Enraged, Nick strode through the halls of the medical facility. He brushed past Dr. Essex's nurse assistant and did not heed her protestations to halt. He ignored her grasp on his arm and she permitted him to go on his way at that point. The man was clearly not going to listen to her and the gleam in his one eye made her stop in her tracks.

Nick struggled to think for a moment, through the red haze of his fury, then turned to ask Nurse Sanchez. “Where is Dr. Essex?”

“He's in his office. He went there after he made sure his patient was in recovery. Dr. Essex said he did not want to be disturbed.” Nurse Sanchez said, a hand clutched at an item in her pocket. A device to call security or warn Essex? Nick had no fucks to give—he lost those fucks in the second World War.

Nick growled. “Too damn bad. Not everyone will get what they want today.” _And the one person who did get what she wanted is going to end up in a world of hurt. If not by me, then the Generals._ He turned on his heel and went directly to—and entered—the office of Dr. Essex.

The door slammed open and Dr. Essex swiveled his chair to regard the angry SHIELD Director with an eerie calmness. “Lorelai Castle went through the procedure with flying colors, although with an additional power I did not expect.”

“Why did you give her the serum without my fucking permission?” Nick glowered at the cool doctor, who did not seem the least bit fazed by either the language or the anger.

Dr. Essex said, smoothly, “She came to me out of fear for her husband and the rest of the troops in Texas. Rogue believed, and I think rightly so, that whatever consequences she needs to face were worth it if she could help them. And she CAN help them. She's now nearly invulnerable, able to withstand even the most powerful of artillery shells. She is immensely strong and lifts just over fifty tons. The unexpected surprise? She can fly, though at a speed we have not determined yet.”

The doctor paused, as the words sunk into Nick. “Unfortunately, she still has her leech ability. But, with her consent, I installed an inhibitor chip. It's not true control, I'll make sure she learns that, but it's safer for everyone. Safer than a easy to lose ring, I might add.” The last sentence was a subtle jibe at Nick but the old spy extraordinaire ignored it, though he would not forget the insult.

Nick snorted. “You said nearly invulnerable. What's her weakness?” _Surely he'd know it._

Dr. Essex smiled. “The government has a method to control her, or other super powered beings that get out of control, and it's called the Judas Bullet. The bullet is made out of material that is not able to be manipulated by even magnetic interference. You do not have enough security clearance to know any more about it.”

“I want to see Rogue.” Nick stated. “And you'll take me to her.”

Dr. Essex acquiesced and rose with the manner of men accustomed to getting their way. “This way, Director Fury.”

# # #

Rogue managed to seem a little abashed when she saw Nick Fury approach her. He appeared angry, but she also saw relief in his eye. Perhaps he was worried about her. Perhaps not. She wore a green and yellow suit with a brown leather belt.

He asked her, gruffly,” Are you OK?” Nick champed at the bit to yell at her, but opted for a more measured approach. Being furious at her would only make her defensive and reactive. He wanted to avoid alienating her if possible. _Reason with her,_ Frank had said, _do not force her to do anything. She's had enough with people coercing her. If you do, she'll fight back. I don't blame her for resisting. And neither should you. Resisting is how she survived._

“Ah feel great.” Now, she felt guilty. Truly guilty. Nick had been good to her and running around behind his back was how she treated him? Nick deserved better, she thought. “Look, Ah'm sorry for doing this without your permission. Ah got a text message from Frank, saying shit was getting real. Ah worried for their safety and thought Ah could help out.”

Nick grunted. “You should have come to me. I know about the assault in Texas; I would have understood and probably let you go ahead with the procedure while I took the heat for it. I didn't tell you but that serum was still in the custody of the military and the Chiefs might consider it theft. I can't protect you from them. However, I doubt they'd toss you in prison—you're too useful now—but they might coerce you into doing missions for them.”

“Won't Dr. Essex get in trouble?” Rogue asked.

“I think he'd be able to wriggle out of any difficulty that presents itself. He's highly regarded for his scientific skills and they'll not want to discard him.” Nick said, wryly. He wanted a cigar, but he was out of them. “You've got moxie, but you're going to have to learn when it's OK to go rogue. Pun intended. And I'm going to have sanction you in some way; I can't have any of my agents disregard my orders. It sets a bad example, especially nowadays.”

“Ah understand, Director Fury.” Rogue stated as she remained cautiously optimistic.

“Let me be absolutely clear; I'm not as angry about you going through with this. I'm mad about you going behind my back and not trusting me.” Nick pounded his point home and noticed her response—a flash of regret that disappeared once again under her veneer of steely resolve. A cool and measured tone was much more effective than out right fury, he noted again.

She nodded and did not know what to say. His words made an impact and she mulled them over.

“You might as well leave and see what you can do for your husband and the troops. What's done is done and there should be some good to come of this.” Nick put his hand on her shoulder. “Don't let this chance go to waste. Leave before the higher ups get wind of what you've done. We'll talk when you finish kicking ass.” _To be honest with myself, I might have done the same thing if I were in her shoes. Frank, alone, is worth saving. I just cannot tolerate her doing this with my lack of input. And her lack of trust._

“Thank you, Nick.” And then she left before anyone could stop her. The urge that she had to lend her assistance could not be denied, desperation clawed at her until she almost screamed from the tension. Rogue took to the air as soon as she left the building and reached her top speed within a matter of minutes.

# # #

David, settled in at his desk, poured over reports and compiled data about the Gnuccis in New York. He analyzed what his agents discovered. Large amounts of money being transferred and he saw they even had the account numbers. How they recovered that sensitive information, he did not want to know. It was enough to simply have them. David made a call to freeze those accounts, under the reason of money laundering—which was true—and then sent out additional orders for surveillance on “Ma” Gnucci.

 _They are going to regret fucking with me. I'm going to make an example out of them. My agents are absolutely pissed off at them. I'm going to organize a SWAT team to move on them before_ _they, and especially Ma, can escape._ He thought of something else and dialed up his Deputy Director Jon Price.

The phone rang twice before his Deputy picked up.“This is David. Would you mind sending any photos of the top ranking Gnuccis to the airports? I'd like a travel ban put on them too. I've already sent out the order to freeze their bank accounts. In a day or two, I'd like to set up a SWAT team to apprehend them. It'll take some planning to make sure our side stays as safe as possible.”

“Yeah, it'd be a real shame if one or two of them got shot.” Jon Price said, sarcasm evident even through the phone.

David held back his private thoughts that he wouldn't mind if they all were slaughtered. “Well, I hope that won't happen. We need to try to bring them in. Oh, and I plan on being there when they're hauled in. Make sure I have a tactical shotgun for my loadout. I want to see the expression on Ma's face.” He thought of what his father would say: _A good leader puts himself on the frontline with his men._

There was a pause from the other end of the line. “Are you sure that's wise?”

“I want to tell Ma Gnucci to her face that she fucked up. Trying to kidnap me is one thing, but the attempted murder of my fiance is another.” David's words were short and his tone flat.

Finally, his second-in-command replied. “I gotcha. I'll make the arrangements and let you know when they're done. I can tell you that the raid won't be tomorrow; it'll take some time. I'll need to talk with the FBI in New York City and to arrange your travel. Warrants will need to be obtained.”

“Do it. I'll talk you to later. I've an appointment with the CIA Director in a few minutes.” He glanced at his calendar. With telephone niceties attended to, both men hung up the phone. David wondered what news was so urgent that Director Jarvinen needed to speak with him today. Not tomorrow, not next week—today. His administrative assistant had to reschedule several appointments to their annoyance.

David took a moment or two so he could tidy up his desk. He locked away material that he didn't want Jarvinen to know about, and then settled back in his chair.

Maria, his ever faithful assistant, popped her head inside his office. She seemed anxious and tired—her voice reflected her emotions. “Director Jarvinen is here and waiting in the lobby. Just a warning; he's not in a good mood. I'm surprised he's not barging in your office, he's so agitated.”

“Thank you for the heads-up. Why don't you take a coffee break after you let him in? Any calls can go to voice mail and I'll take care of them when I'm done.” David offered her a smile and she returned it. He made every effort to be a good boss; it inspired loyalty and hard work.

She shook her head. “I'll return the calls. You're a busy man and you don't need to do my job. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I better show the Director in before he gets impatient.” She closed the door then went to go retrieve his unwelcome visitor.

David drew a deep breathe and readied himself to meet Jarvinen. He quieted his thoughts and unease. Instinct told David not to trust him, but he had seen first hand that the CIA Director was very efficient and good at his job. So David tolerated his fellow Director—competency in this day and age was always a pleasant surprise.

Director Alex Jarvinen came in with a purposeful stride and a hostile glint to his frosty blue eyes. A laptop, tucked into the crook of his arm, was rapidly brought out and opened up. Director Jarvinen skipped the greeting and came to the point. “I've been waiting for you to approach me about this problem, but you haven't. So I'm going to tell you what I've discovered about your son. Well, perhaps I should show you.”

With a few clicks on the keyboard, as he awkwardly positioned the laptop on his arm, Alex pulled up a video. He hit play and put it in front of David. The video was crystal clear; a bound man sat in a chair while a young boy came up to him, a knife clutched in a small hand.

David's heart fell through his stomach and through the floor. He recognized Trent, saw the killer emerge in his son's dark brown eyes, and continued to watch even as Trent slit the throat of the captured man. He remained silent and his expression turned stony, emotions protected by his facade. His heart broke, and it became hard for him to breathe, as he realized the fun-loving, ever curious Trent he knew was dead. In his son's place, was a psychopath, blooming under another psychopath's 'nurturing'. _He's gone, like Cameron and Emma. Truly gone._ Inside, he wept.

“That man was one of my agents. Apparently, HYDRA apprehended him and, in the longer version of this video, Von Strucker encouraged Trent.” Director Jarvinen watched for a reaction and was rewarded with nothing. The pale blond man added, since he knew David believed in family values, “ He was a good agent and a family man. He left a wife and two children.”

“I'm sorry for his loss. Give my condolences to his widow.” David wanted to know what Jarvinen hoped to accomplish; he sensed that the other Director desired to push his buttons. He pushed back his feelings and let logic take over. “What is it that you're really after, Alex? My fiance and I were assaulted last night at a restaurant—I know you're aware of that. Every higher up in the intelligence community was given the news. And now, the very next morning, you're over here with this shit?”

_I need a fucking drink,_ David thought. He missed the slow burn of Jack Daniels as it slid down his throat, the utter relaxation he experienced once it took hold, and the subsequent release from his worries. Jack Daniels had a beautiful, deep amber color, of almost the same hue as Trent's eyes. Of Morena's eyes. Oh, David knew that it was temporary relief, but he craved the false and sweet promises of alcohol. He fidgeted with a pen on his desk, twirling it between his fingers. 

“I don't have an agenda other than to tell you that your son is a murdering piece of shit. You're the one who wanted updates on Trent when they're available. Sorry if this update isn't what you wanted.” Alex spat at David, then willed himself to calm down. “I apologize. My words came out harsher than I meant them and I went too far. Look, I'm here to tell you that my agency will be trying to capture Trent. I'm not saying that Trent should be executed, but I think he needs be institutionalized for the rest of his life. People don't come back from killing in cold blood.”

David understood Alex from a clinical and detached point of view. However as a father, the urge to smash in Alex's face was primal and he managed to contain it. “Most people don't,” David agreed as he ran his hand through his black hair, peppered with silver threads, “but children are still malleable enough for treatment to make a difference. It's why children aren't diagnosed with an anti-social personality disorder until they're of age.”

_I need a drink. Just one. I can control how much._ The insidious craving began to rise.  _Gotta get him out of here and take the rest of the day off. I need a breather, just a moment of peace._

Alex snorted with derision. “Ever the optimist. Well, I got a backlog of work to do. I'll see you around, David.” He left the office to leave David to his own private hell.

David finished off the most vital tasks, then told his assistant that he had some personal business to attend. She nodded, sagely, and watched him head for the elevator.

A short time later, he pulled his car at a liquor store. He purchased a bottle of Jack and a cheap shot glass, paid for it in cash, then stuffed it in his briefcase. _Just a shot or two to numb myself. I've got a grip on my disease. I'm in charge, not the liquor. Me._

He came home to an empty house. David found a note on the kitchen table:

_David,_

_I had a doctor's appointment today. Took the kids with me and I'll be taking them to the grocery store. Sarah wants Popsicles and I need to get formula for Michael. Next time, please consult me before volunteering me for babysitting duty. Also, you have a letter from your father. It's on your desk._

_Love,_

_Karen_

_I really should have talked to Karen about the kiddos._ He thought ruefully.  _But this gives me a chance to unwind in private. And conceal the evidence._ The bottle of whiskey sang a siren song from within the briefcase. Its presence both reassured and frightened him, but he simply wanted a sip.  _I've got this beat. I'm the boss, not the whiskey._

He made his way to his office and closed the door. David took off his tie and jacket. He loosened a button on his shirt and plunked down in his leather chair. The letter was on his keyboard. David noticed the brisk and authoritarian handwriting.

David popped open the bottle and poured the liquid into the glass. He gulped it down, in spite of feeling that his father was judging him through the letter. He ignored it and poured another shot. Then another. And downed a fourth shot.

_Finally, I'm numb. Feels good. Feels warm._ After a second, he reached for the letter and dropped it. He leaned over for it and slipped to the ground.  _Damn it. I'm feeling too good._ He struggled back into his chair and clumsily opened the letter. He made himself another drink with unsteady hands, a few drops splashed on his mahogany desk, before he dared to read what his father sent.

_Frank Junior,_

_There is no statute of limitations on grief, David. Grief will destroy you, if you give it a foothold. You’re stronger than that, son. Closure is bullshit. It’s a myth, perpetuated by law enforcement officers and psychologists to make survivors feel better. I will not sugarcoat the truth; the ghosts of your children will haunt you. Forever. The best you can do is to take that grief and be productive with it. Make it your strength._

_Your Father,_

_Frank Sr._

David trembled. His father's words rang true to him, especially regarding the haunting part. _Did I haunt Father? Did he lie awake at night missing me as much as I miss my children?_ David knew that Frank must have suffered greatly. _He's not a psychopath or a sociopath. He's got compassion, a little at least, and does not hurt animals. He loves his wife and daughter—he's committed to his marriage and his job._

He helped himself to a swig from the bottle, eschewing the shot glass, then put the bottle back down. The room moved around him and his mind turned back to Trent. He wanted Trent back, to hold him and try to save his son from the darkness. _Can't save him, can't save myself._ The alcohol took David then and David began to retch. Chunks of lunch decorated his expensive shirt.

_Drank too much, too fast. Not used to it._ David decided to rest on the floor, on his side, as more spasms ripped through him. 

 

 


	16. The Dark of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating again in two weeks. (August 28 through August 30th)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating again in two weeks. (August 28 through August 30th). Thank you for your patience.

Karen pulled her Altima into the driveway, behind David's jet-black sedan. Sarah made a little squeal of delight; she recognized the car as well. Karen frowned. It was not like him to be home so early, but she thought that he recognized that he needed a break. Especially after last night. 

“Let's go in the house.” She let Sarah carry a light grocery bag, stuffed with her Popsicles and a can of formula. Karen juggled two bags and a squirming bundle of fussy joy. She managed to open the door, a marvelous feat of multi-tasking, and Sarah rushed in. Sarah bounced around the kitchen until Karen had put Michael down. The busy impromptu babysitter stashed the purchases away. Karen gave Sarah a cherry Popsicle and asked her to eat it at the kitchen table. 

Karen found it odd that David did not come and greet them and a horrible feeling like icy talons gnawed at her. It was out of character for him, and she worried about him. “Sarah, I'd like you to stay here. Please.”   
Sarah looked up from her frozen treat and said in her child's voice, cheerful and bright, “OK, Ma'am. Thank you for the Popsicle.” She continued to eat her way through it, her mouth and cheeks now tinged with red.   
Rogue had taught her manners, I see. Must be the Southerner in her. Karen smiled at Sarah, still oblivious to anything other than her treat. She held onto Michael, who calmed down once they entered the house. Karen supposed that Michael, overstimulated from the outside world, needed the comfort of a familiar environment. 

The house, silent and still, was usually filled with laughter and music. She knew that David loved some Southern Rock. He liked The Allman Brothers Band and Lynyrd Skynyrd. It helped him to relax from a long day. If David felt more pressure than normal, he listened to Classical. Haydn was a personal favorite of his and Karen grew to love Haydn's melodic and beautiful music as well. The silence perturbed her. 

Karen peeked in their bedroom; the room screamed from the lack of his presence. Their bathroom door, ajar, told her that he was not in there. Karen placed Michael in the bassinet, which rested at the foot of their king sized bed. The now worried woman continued her search. 

She dared to poke her head in what had been his son's old room, nothing was in there now but a few boxes. Blue walls held the remnant of picture hangers, sticking out like bird bones. Those walls once displayed posters of dinosaurs. There was a haunted aura in the unused room, and it gave Karen the chills to spend much time in it. The ghost of what Trent was to David was alive and well within that room. Karen knew that David stored Trent's belongings elsewhere. David refused to give up on Trent, yet was unable to have his possessions in the house. The unused toys and books caused David more pain than Karen believed he wanted to admit, even to himself. 

"David?" She called, her voice soft as falling rain. "Where are you?" She finished checking the other rooms then came to his office, the solid oak door closed tight. He must be in here, she thought, because he had to finish up his work for the day. She knocked on the door and heard a low groan. Her concern for him rose inside of her, butterflies rumbled in her stomach. "David? Are you all right? Do you need help?" 

David laid on the floor with his eyes shut, as if to deny that he was in the real world. That he was alive. Vomit covered his shirt and spilled onto the hard wood floor, a darker color than of the whiskey. "Go away." He muttered, another wave of nausea seared through him. He curled up and focused on not fouling himself. Regret and shame filtered through his concentration. I cannot control myself when it comes to my old friend, Jack. I'm a failure, stuck in purgatory of misery. I was wrong and I can't have one drink. I'll always need more. 

Karen refused to budge and she began to wonder exactly why he hid out in the room. She now doubted it was to work from the comfort of home. His tone worried her and his secrecy annoyed her. He was an alcoholic and she was very aware of that particular problem. Her instincts as a recovering drug user, told her that David had been drinking. And that he broke his sobriety, which in turn fractured her heart. "I am not. In fact, I'm coming in. Right now." Her inner thoughts said in a rather snide fashion, his father did catch David wasted off his ass. Frank caught his son derelict in his responsibilities as a grown adult, let alone his extra duties as a Director. Karen knew Frank felt disappointed in his son; she felt the same way if David was drunk. 

She barged in and stood for a moment, shocked, at what she saw in front of her. Before her lay her fiancé, devastated by the poison known as whiskey, surrounded by chunks of digested breakfast and bile. Her shock turned to a righteous fury and she clenched her fists. "How could you do this? We've got children to watch! You can't afford to indulge in this garbage." 

"I'm...I'm sorry." David slurred, his words heavy under the malicious influence of an amber liquid. His blue eyes caught hers and she observed that he had been crying. "I had a bad day and I thought that I could handle a shot or two. I'm a fucking idiot, I guess. Got news on Trent, news that I tried to blank out. But I still remember. I still remember." 

"What did you hear?" Karen inquired, a finger fiddled with a lock of hair. Her eyes blazed with her emotion, a whirlwind of anger and anxiety. Karen began to unfurl her hands, elegant fingers exposed. She touched her engagement ring with her thumb and thought of the previous night. It started with the promise of love and ended with crimson blood on white roses. Do I want to marry him after all, she asked herself. Yes, I do. He's good. He made a mistake, but he's good. 

David stared with disgust at the mess he left on the hardwood. The words did not come with ease and he drug them out. "I watched him kill a CIA agent. The filmed 'event' was intended to make it to my desk, but people intercepted and tried to protect me from it." 

Horror curdled the rest of Karen's anger and she knelt beside him. "I can't imagine what you're feeling, but alcohol is a poor choice to deal with your problems. You're not a horrible person for relapsing under the circumstances. Or any other circumstances for that matter. It's part of the recovery process." She paused and remembered with a fair degree of guilt over her own lapse in judgment. I would be a hypocrite to judge him, she thought. "I've relapsed under stress, too. You aren't alone, David." 

David glanced at her, tears in his eyes. He trembled , his huge body wracked by both emotions and alcohol. "My son is dead and in his place, is an inhuman monster. Trent was full of life and mischief before the .. before the massacre. That changed him, took him from me, took my other children from me." 

Karen bit her lip, indecision in her heart and mind. She considered whether to tell him the purpose of her doctor's appointment, but Karen opted to keep quiet until she figured out what she wanted to do about it. She wanted a baby, but she had two children to take care of now. With Rogue away protecting her husband and the country, Karen did not know how often the other woman would be around her children. Karen considered abortion while on the obstetrician's table, as much as it pained her to contemplate the option. I'm also not supposed to be pregnant. We took precautions. I don't know how he'll react and I've got a few weeks to decide. Now is not the time to tell him. 

She gathered the shards of whatever calm remained inside of her, and told him with a touch of love and genuine concern, “Why don't you clean this up, take a shower then call your sponsor. I don't want Sarah to see you in this shape. We'll talk more about this later, after you recover. I want you to get on the right track, David, because I will not tolerate continued drunkenness. “ 

David nodded as he stewed in his own bitter defeat. Karen put him on notice and he knew that was fair of her. She should. She has her own sobriety to mind. He pushed himself into a sitting position as he judged his readiness to move. “It's wearing off. I should be fine now, the worst is over. Go take care of the children.”   
“I will, believe me. But first I want to watch you pour the rest of the Jack Daniels in our bathroom sink. I'm not going to do it for you. ” Karen said as she stood up and crossed her arms. It would be the first step in his re-dedication to abstinence. He had to prove to her that he was willing to give his addiction up and she would be monitoring him. 

He nodded and grabbed his bottle. I hate and yet love alcohol. I can't ever slip again. I can't ever have another sip again. With Karen in pursuit, he walked to their master bathroom. He poured the liquor in the sink, then tossed the empty container in the waste basket. "It's done. I'll clean up then call my sponsor." He still didn't like how turbulent his stomach felt, a stormy sea of his own device, but knew he could avoid another episode as long as he refrained from food.

Karen touched his shoulder, picked up Michael, then left to mind Sarah. Sarah had been quiet and Karen wondered what the girl was up to. "I love you, David, but I hate what alcohol does to you. Please don't drink again." Or else I'll leave you. I will, so help me God. I'll take our baby, too--if I decide to keep it. And I won't allow you to have visitation.

# # #

Rogue soared high above the Texas plains as the sun pelted heat onto her back. It seemed to be around noon and she heard the sounds of battle from miles away. She honed in on that sound and saw a river clogged with dead and dying men. A red cold river, she thought. A river of blood. 

Groups of Marines battled the invaders and the river was the line in the sand. They would not let the combined forces of Chinese and HYDRA to cross. Booms from cannons, some from a considerable distance away, struck targets on the Mexican side of the border. She watched with satisfaction as the opposing force scrambled for their lives. Serves them right, sticking their nose where it doesn't belong. Continuing her assessment of the vast scene, she took note of the evidence of strafing runs. 

A couple of sharp-eyed Marines, snipers she supposed, spotted and pointed at her. They flashed a message at her with their glass lens--she knew they were trying to talk with her, but did not know what they were saying. She had a feeling it was in Morse code or some military related code talking. Rogue decided it would be best if she introduced herself.

She descended with a deliberate slowness, not wanting to the men to view her as a threat. Rogue held her arms outstretched and set down on the ground with grace. Her yellow boots made a soft indent in the kicked up dirt. The young woman was immediately apprehended by the Marine sniper and his spotter. 

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" The tone betrayed the man's exhaustion and his hand was on his rifle, finger off the trigger. He noted the SHIELD insignia on her right shoulder and relaxed. Still, he regarded her with suspicion. 

"Agent Lorelei Castle of SHIELD. Ah'm here to help in any way that Ah can." She smiled at him and kept her tone low and reassuring. The sporadic bursts of gunfire and pained screams played out in the background. "My husband is Major Frank Castle, if you need to verify my identity." 

The sniper raised his eyebrow and removed his hand from his weapon. No one sane would claim to be HIS wife, and so he believed her. He appreciated Frank for his capabilities, but also feared him. "Name's Wilson. This is Spangler. We don't have time to chit-chat with the Major, but if you're searching for him, his company is on that ridge. Be careful. Other Marines might be liable to shoot first and ask questions later." He pointed to a high cliff with a steep embankment that led to the river.

They can shoot all they want, but Ah'll be OK. Bullets will bounce right off of me. Rogue needed to leave so the men could get back to sniping.

"Ah'll be on my way. Thank you." Rogue thanked them and the men went back to their job. She took to the air to bypass Marines on the ground. People had a tendency not to look up and Rogue counted on that to help her avoid trouble. 

She made her landing in the midst of exhausted, bloody Marines. Frank sat among them as he took a breather as he cleaned his rifle. Rogue noted he had blood on his uniform and a scratch on his face. The Marines jumped up and aimed their guns at her, disturbed at the sudden sight of an unknown quantity and coming down from the adrenaline of blood soaked battle.

Frank finished maintenance on his weapon and told his men, “Stand down. This is my wife, Agent Castle of SHIELD.” I have many questions to ask her, but it'll have to wait. If she's here to lend assistance, I'll put her to use. Frank, above all else, was a practical man. His company was hurting and was down to sixty men. He was not pleased that she was here, he believed she needed to be with the children, but would take any advantage that landed in reach.

Rogue gave a greeting to the men who smiled back at her. Frank waved her aside.

“I understand you went through the experiment and want to eliminate the threat? Go take out the artillery. Tanks, cannons...anything you can.” Frank touched her face, dirtied fingers curled under her jaw, a rare show of physical affection. “We'll need to have a discussion later. You seem to have a way of doing the opposite of what people request. Remember, the children are what's important. Not me.”

Rogue sighed, but anticipated being let loose on the enemy. Her blood sang with the joy of doing battle. “The kids need you, Frank. Ah don't know if Sarah could lose you and still stay whole. Michael needs a man to teach him to be a man. To my way of thinking, Ah'm keeping them safe by watching your six.” Ah need you too. Ah MISS you in bed next to me. Ah miss discussing the finer points of the Art of War or some other classical book with you. Ah just miss you.

“Point made.” Am I that important to Sarah? Rogue would know. The idea he was so vital to a young girl's life was a bit unsettling. Dying is easy. Living is hard and not for the weak. Frank was far from weak but he was intelligent and self aware enough to know war had left him disconnected with most of humanity. “Go out and do what you came to do.” Frank heard through Hicks that the Army was on its way, but it was not possible to organize and provision vast numbers of soldiers on a moment's notice. Let alone gather additional supplies for the Marines. Frank tried not to think of what a logistical nightmare that must have been for the higher ups and supply officers.

“What about you and your company?” She asked as she touched his name on his chest. Rogue wore his original dog tags under her outfit. 

His hand dropped from her face, one finger trailed down her neck before falling away. “We can't cross the river to press the advantage. The powers-that-be don't want it to appear as if we're invading. But you can.” Frank was aware of his men giving furtive glances in their direction. Some of them openly admired his wife's spandex clad posterior then glanced away when they saw Frank's grim expression. Respect my wife or else his countenance told them. 

Rogue nodded. “Then there is no time like the present.” She decided not to kiss him as it was against Marine Corps policy while he was in uniform, but she gave him her most dazzling smile. Warm, soothing and transformed her classic beauty into pure radiance. “Ah'll do my best to be safe, love. The other guys had better watch out, though. Ah'm tired of this shit.” 

He watched as she jumped into the air and sped toward her destination. Next time, I'll suggest the opposite of what she should do. Frank could not help but think she belonged back with the children. It did not seem fair to have the children cared for by David and his girlfriend; they had lives to live. And, he considered, I do not trust his six month long sobriety. Stress could break him and he'll drink again. My own father drank too much and too frequently. That's why I rarely touch the stuff. 

Frank often thought about David and realized his son had a fatal flaw in his personality. David has my darkness and penchant for violence. I don't know if he has the strength to deal with the moral problems that presents. Deep inside, there's a part of him that is stunted. Deformed like a gnarled tree root. Damn Carlos Salvatore from stealing him from me. Damn that man for damaging my son.


End file.
